


The Shamy Book Club Compilation

by April in Paris (April_in_Paris)



Series: Shamyverse [3]
Category: Shamy - Fandom, The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 126
Words: 377,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_in_Paris/pseuds/April%20in%20Paris
Summary: One marriage. Two geniuses. Dozens of books. Infinite possibilities.Sheldon and Amy form the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation, in which they agree to read a book together every other month. Little do they expect literature and their lives to intersect so much.Originally published on fanfiction.net beginning on May 5, 2014 as three separate stories:- The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation (aka The Shamy Book Club)- Publication Federation Aftermath (aka The Shamy Book Club After Dark)- The Anniversary EvolutionNow assembled here with the chapters arranged together in publication order.





	1. The Natural History of Dragons

_**I postulated a scene in**  _ **The Oxygen Deprivation Exploration**   _ **that Amy convinces Sheldon to read a "mindless work of fiction." (It's Chapter 9: The Literary Contemplation if you missed it.) And thus the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation was born.**_

_**This is series of one-shots that start during** _ **The Oxygen Deprivation Exploration** **, _continue with_ The Exhalation Combustion Investigation** _**, and then form the third in this series of works, named The Shamyverse by a reviewer. The first chapter t** **akes place between Chapters 9 and 10 of** _ **The Oxygen Deprivation Exploration.**

_**I don't own The Big Bang Theory, its characters, or the books discussed here.** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**Inaugural Meeting, September 2014**

**Primary Topic: _The Natural History of Dragons: A Memoir by Lady Trent_  by Marie Brennan**

* * *

Amy took the mug of tea Sheldon offered as he sat down next to her. "It's been four weeks to the day since I gave you  _The Natural History of Dragons_  to read, Sheldon, and you haven't said a word about it."

"Because I have nothing to say. I already thanked you for the gift. I read a novel for you, and I finished it," Sheldon said. Why did he have to say anything else about it?

"But you agreed to read it and talk about it," Amy replied.

"What is there to talk about?"

"Well, I do believe I was promised something about it being boring and you told me so, Dr. Cooper." Amy smirked at him as she lifted her mug to her mouth.

_I do like it when she calls me Dr. Cooper._  Sheldon raised an eyebrow back at her and held it there. "You are wrong, Dr. Fowler. I said, and I quote, 'I'll relish telling you what mindless drivel it was and how it was complete waste of both of our times. And I will say I told you so.' "

"See, you promised," Amy replied.  _Parts of me stop functioning when he says my name like that._

Sheldon sighed. "I never used the word promise. For someone who claims to love literature so much, you fail terribly at language comprehension. But, as you are my girlfriend, I will indulge you. I am hereby relishing telling you it was mindless drivel. It was complete waste of both of our times. I told you so."

Amy could no longer tell if he was serious or not. She felt a stab of disappointment that maybe he was serious, and this was yet another thing they wouldn't enjoy together. "Did you really hate it?"

Sheldon's heart softened. He was trying to learn to flirt back with her, and sometimes he stumbled upon something he thought she liked. She liked being called Dr. Fowler, of that he was certain; and he was strongly beginning to suspect his eyebrow held some sort of power over her. But maybe he'd crossed a line. He sighed quietly. "No, I didn't hate it. It wasn't mindless drivel or a waste of time." He paused. "What did you think of it?"

She was pleased with the question. "I was quite taken with it. I thought its greatest strength was the tone and syntax used by the author. In addition, I thought the setting was very well articulated."

"If you keep saying things like that, there's no way I can discuss this."

"Why not?" She was disappointed again. "I thought we were going to discuss it seriously."

Yet again, Sheldon heard the hurt in her voice. He pushed away the gnawing feeling he felt so frequently around her lately. "Amy, if we talk about a character's feelings isn't that too much like talking about our own? And you know I don't like to talk about feelings."

Amy smiled in relief. "I don't think so. After all, no one is likely to confuse you with a Victorian woman fighting the glass ceiling that is natural history."

He couldn't deny her logic.  _Clever Amy._  "Very well. It was well written. I enjoyed the protagonist. I thought she was intelligent, passionate, and determined. I like those qualities very much."

Amy wondered if he was, perhaps, despite his earlier question, talking about his own feelings. Should she press her luck? "What did you think of the Jacob Camherst character?"

"A man of science, even if that science is natural history, is a worthy man. I thought he was a good match for Isabella," Sheldon said.

Her heart skipped a beat.  _Please don't be talking about the book anymore._  "You did?"

Sheldon was surprised. "Yes, didn't you? They were both scientists so they understood each other. He was the logical one, she was the eccentric, emotional one; but together they were a brilliant team. Like you and I, they were intellectual equals."

Amy thought her heart was going to explode with warmth. She thought about pressing further, but she knew that even Sheldon would figure out eventually that what he was saying. "What did you think of the dragons?"

"There weren't enough of them," Sheldon replied. He was inwardly relieved, because he was beginning to think he'd said too much, and Amy was going to ask him about the scene by the fire next.

Amy shrugged. "Although I disagree, I can respect that opinion. It's the first book in a series, so I think there will be more dragons in the future." She looked over at Sheldon hopefully. "The sequel is already published. We could read it together to find out."

_Do I want to read anther novel? Even if it is for Amy and even if she has made our little discussion not painful in the least_. He decided to test his theory on flirting. He would use the power of flirtation to get himself out of this. He raised his eyebrow. "Dr. Fowler, we will be entirely too busy with our Halloween preparations next month to read another novel."

Amy bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Very well. We can revisit the issue in November."

"That would be acceptable, Dr. Fowler." Sheldon kept his eyebrow up, even though it was starting to make his forehead ache.  _Oh, the pain one endures for science._

"So, Dr. Cooper, we'll read a book together every other month?" Amy heard a little giggle come out at the end of her sentence and cursed herself.

"Agreed," Sheldon said quickly, so full of relief that he could lower his eyebrow, and then he immediately realized he had spoken too soon. Did Amy just giggle?  _And did I just agree to some sort of bimonthly book club?_

Amy could no longer hide her smirk.

Sheldon rolled his eyes, and then he leaned over to kiss her.  _What a strange power you hold over me, Amy Farrah Fowler._

* * *

_**Thank you for your reviews in advance.** _


	2. The Tropic of Serpents

_**This meeting takes place between chapters 7 and 8 of** _ **The Exhalation Combustion Investigation** _**.** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2014**

**Primary Topic: _The Tropic of Serpents: A Memoir by Lady Trent_  by Marie Brennan**

* * *

Amy sat the plates down on her dining table.

"What's this?" Sheldon asked. He leaned down slightly to sniff.

"You said you were hungry when you called. I made us turkey sandwiches."

"With leftover turkey?"  _Just as I thought._

"Yes, with leftover turkey."

"Amy, I don't eat leftovers. All that cooling and setting around and reheating. They're a breeding ground of bacteria."

"First, Bernadette and I strictly followed all recommendations in regard to the temperature of the turkey. Second, we put the leftovers in the refrigerator almost immediately. Third, you know how clean my refrigerator is. Fourth, I love leftover turkey sandwiches the day after Thanksgiving more than turkey on actual Thanksgiving. Fifth, you don't have to eat it."

He tried, very hard, to give her his most defiant look. She gave him one back. He never would have guessed that telling Amy he loved her would make her more obstinate. And that her defiance would make him love her more.  _Love is so confusing._

"Very well," he said. To her credit, Amy barely let the edges of a smile play on her lips. If he didn't know her lips so well, he may never have noticed.

"You said you finished the book this morning," Amy said.

He nodded while he chewed.

"Did you like it? Where there enough dragons for you?" Amy asked.

"I'm not sure there can ever be enough dragons. Especially as every time there is not a dragon in this book there is a lot of talking. There's that abysmal scene when they actually all sit in a circle talk about their feelings. But, other than that, yes, I liked it. Although I think it started a little slow."

"Are you talking about the break-in? And the politics of Eriga?"

He nodded into another bite.  _I must never let her know how good this sandwich is._

"Perhaps. The politics came into play at the end of the book, so I understand the set up. I wonder if the break-in will be important in another book. I told you there are more planned for the future."

"Maybe. I liked the idea that the river creatures are dragons, too. The author is creating a whole new phylum." It occurred to Sheldon that he was now talking about this book exactly has he told Amy not to talk about its prequel two months ago.  _Maybe there is something to this book idea, after all._

"I'm interested to hear your thoughts on the harness Isabel wore to emulate dragon wings."

"They wouldn't work. Even if the author is talented in the skills of language, she is clearly not a physicist. Or an engineer. I discussed it with Howard, and he agrees with me."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "You discussed it with Howard?"

"Yes, we attempted to diagram it, but it doesn't work." Then Sheldon had an odd feeling that maybe he'd done something wrong. "Was I not supposed to? Is this one of our . . . private things?"

She smiled at him, and he let out the breath he was holding. "No, I don't think it needs to be private. I was just surprised, that's all. For someone who didn't want to read a work of mindless fiction, you've taken it very seriously."

He didn't know how to answer that. He had taken it seriously. He had enjoyed it. And he especially enjoyed talking to Amy about it. She had been right, all along.  _Amy is always right._

Instead of answering directly, he said instead, "There was one phrase I especially liked. On page 37, when Natalie spoke of committing to the tender mercies of physics."

"Did you like only because it contains the word physics?"

"No. I liked it because it described my life's work, which happens to be physics. My work is a commitment, but sometimes it's difficult."

Amy answered quietly. "Most true commitments are difficult. It is how committed we are that makes them worthy of the effort."

Sheldon coughed and shifted in his seat. He didn't understand, exactly, how this conversation had turned so weighty.  _Why does our little book club always feel so revealing?_

This made him think of something else Howard had said. "Amy, Howard called this the Shamy book club."

"And you hate that."

"Yes, you know how much I dislike that term. I propose that we decide on an official name."

"If it has an official name, does that mean we are continuing it?"

He was surprised by that. "I thought that is what you wanted."

"I do. But I wasn't going to force you."

"You're not forcing me. Well, you are forcing me to admit I enjoy it. But you're not forcing me to read with you."

Amy gave him her warmest smile.  _I've pleased her._  She said, "What did you have in mind?"

"The Cooper Fowler Publication Federation. I've always wanted to be part of a Federation."

"Like in Star Trek?"

"Why, yes." He grinned at her. He thought his heart might burst with affection.  _Just when I thought it wasn't possible to love her any more._

"I think it should be the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation."

"But that's not alphabetical."

"Yes, but I'm the creator." A look of defiance was starting to creep back into her eyes.

Sheldon didn't even try to fight back. "The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation it is."

He lifted his glass up and she brought hers in for a salute and clink.

"What are we reading for January?" he asked.

"You pick."

"But you always pick."

"I've picked twice now. You should pick something."

"Comic books are out?"

"You know that," she said, warning in her voice.

"I don't read fiction. How will I know what to pick?"

"Do some of that research you love so much. You have a month to think about it. A good starting place is often to pick something that reminds you of something else you've especially enjoyed in the past."

Sheldon was stumped. There were so many things he'd especially enjoyed lately. But they all had to do with Amy. How was he ever going to find a book that reminded him of her?

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	3. The Angel's Kiss

_**This meeting takes place during the first half of Chapter 12: The Superman Distraction in my story** _ **The Exhalation Combustion Investigation.** _**Spoilers if you're not caught up on that story.** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2015**

**Primary Topic: _Doctor Who: The Angel's Kiss: A Melody Malone Mystery_  by Justin Richards _  
_**

* * *

The insistent shaking tore her away from her sleep.

Shake, shake, shake. "Amy."

Shake, shake, shake. "Amy."

Shake, shake, shake. "Amy."

"Noooo," she moaned. She squinted into the light.

"Wake up, we have to talk." Sheldon stood over her, in his robe, clutching her Kindle in his arms. Without her glasses, he was fuzzy.

"Sheldooon. What time is it?"

"11:54."

"Why are you waking me up at midnight?"

"It's not midnight, it's 11:54. That's the point."

"I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow." She desperately wanted to go back to sleep.

"No, it can't wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is February, and that's too late."

She sighed deeply. "Why is that too late?"

"Because today is the last day of January. We agreed to read and discuss a book on the odd numbered months. We have precisely five minutes now to start that discussion."

Amy sighed again. She knew that eagerness in his voice. There would be no sleep now. She braced her hands on the mattress, pulling herself upright. "Fine. Hand me my glasses."

Sheldon grinned, and he picked up her glasses and gave them to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she moved over to make room for him.

"So you stayed up late to finish the book? You didn't have to, you know," she said.

"Yes, I did. I've never turned in a late assignment in my life."

"It's not an assignment, Sheldon."

"It is to me. An assignment to understand you better."

Amy's heart glowed. She loved it when Sheldon said cute and loving things without even realizing it. "You could have asked for an extension. I know you've had other things on your mind this month."

He didn't reply. Instead she saw him reach up to touch his chest. It was becoming a bit of a tic for him, and she found it incredibly sad. She regretting bringing it up.

"Okay, you start," she said, changing the subject.

"You always start."

"I picked the last two books, you picked this one. You start."

"But -" he started to protest.

"It's 11:58. You'd better start talking about the book or you'll be late."

"I was disappointed." He blurted that out, and then hung his head.

_Oh._  "Sheldon? Why are you sorry that you're disappointed?"

He looked up at her. "Because this is something we both enjoy. I don't want it to be disappointing."

She moved over more, so she was on the opposite side of the bed. She patted the spot she had just left with her hand. "Come here." He moved in next to her.

"Just because you found a book disappointing doesn't mean we won't continue to enjoy this," she said. "You will not enjoy all books. It's like . . . it's like that one science fiction show you hate. But you still like other science fiction shows."

"Amy, I didn't say it was as bad as  _Babylon 5_. Almost nothing is as bad as  _Babylon 5_ ," he said, sounding more like himself.

"Then why was it disappointing?"

"You told me to pick something that reminded me of something else I've especially enjoyed in the past. But I didn't enjoy it as much."

She thought she understood. "So you missed The Doctor. It's in the  _Doctor Who_  universe, but he's not in it. I think that's a valid reaction."

"No, that's not it. I did miss The Doctor. It still felt like an episode of Doctor Who, maybe just not as serious."

This confused Amy. She was confused why Sheldon thought _Doctor Who_  was serious. Even though she enjoyed it herself, she never thought it was all that serious. But she was more confused by what was troubling Sheldon.

"So you liked the story, you didn't mind that The Doctor wasn't in it, but you're still disappointed? Was it too short? I think it's technically a novella."

"No, that's not it," Sheldon sighed loudly.

Of all his sighs, Amy was certain this was the one that meant there was a feeling there he didn't want to talk about. She waited patiently. She had learned that sometimes giving him peace opened him up.

In a few minutes, he sighed again, softer. "I picked the book because it's supposedly written by Melody Malone. You like Melody Malone. You were Melody Malone for Halloween. I wanted to read a book that reminded me of you. But she isn't you."

She was flustered. In a good way.  _Sheldon wanted to read a book that reminded him of me._  It was an incredibly sweet and kind thing to do, to say. She wasn't certain he knew how much.

"Thank you, Sheldon."

He raised his eyebrows. "For what?"

Amy shrugged. "I wouldn't want to be River Song."

"But I thought you did. She's your favorite character."

"Just because she's my favorite character doesn't mean I want to be her. I like her, I respect her, I appreciate her, but I wouldn't want to be her. Maybe I do envy her courage, but I wouldn't want to be her."

"Why not?" Sheldon was looking at her very intently. She loved it when he looked at her with such complete absorption.

"Because she doesn't get to spend her life with the man she loves."

Instead of replying, Sheldon brought his hand up to caress her cheek. Time stopped, and she became lost in his beautiful pale blue eyes. She had the feeling she had stumbled upon something, something that maybe Sheldon knew and she didn't.

"Amy, do you think that The Doctor and River Song ever had coitus?" Sheldon asked suddenly.

Amy raised her eyebrows.  _Well, that's new. I didn't see that coming._  "Of course."

"Why of course?"

"Did we read the same book? Between that and the television show I always assumed so."

"It is because she had so much sass? Dr. Fowler has taught me that physical intimacy can make females impertinent."

Amy chuckled at that. "No. Here, let me show you."

Sheldon passed her the Kindle. She quickly found the bookmark she was looking for. She read aloud, "'Let me through – I'm a doctor.' My heart beat a little faster, and I lingered just long enough to be sure he'd used the indefinite article. But the man was short and bald and rather ugly – not at all like any Doctor I'd consult. I hope. If consult is the right word."

"So consult is a euphemism?" Sheldon asked. "I see it now, when you read it to me that way. I think you're right. Maybe we should have listened to the audiobook."

"Yes. But not just that. It's way the word doctor makes her heart beat faster and the way she lingers to find out if it's him."

"Just my love for you makes my heart beat faster. I often find myself lingering for you."

_Wow, all sorts of unintentional sweetness. Maybe I should let Sheldon wake me in the middle of the night more often._

However, Sheldon's question put Amy at a loss. He was right, of course. Love alone did make one's heart beat faster and linger for another. "Maybe you are right. You're certainly correct that love and coitus aren't the same thing, at least not all the time. I guess I just assumed that River Song loved The Doctor in every way it is possible to love someone."

Sheldon cocked his head and considered her words silently. She watched him for a moment, until he shook is head slightly, which she knew meant he was putting a thought on a shelf in his mind to think about later.

"Can we go to sleep now?" she asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're on my side of the bed."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	4. The Eyre Affair

_**This meeting takes place after the conclusion of my story** _ **The Exhalation Combustion Investigation _(as will all future meetings)._  ** _**Spoilers if you've not read it.** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2015**

**Primary Topic: _The Eyre Affair: A Thursday Next Novel_  by Jasper Fforde _  
_**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Jane Eyre_  by Charlotte Bronte**

* * *

Sheldon was at an impasse in his equation, his thoughts starting to meander, and he was wondering again why he tried to work after nine in the evening, when his phone chimed. Happy for the distraction, he took it out of his pocket to read his new email.

"Amy?" He shifted so he could see her sitting at her desk. "What are you doing?"

"Wasting time on the wonderland that is the Internet." She turned to him.

"Since when does wasting time include updating your relationship status on Facebook to indicate we are now married? I just received an email wanting confirmation. You know I don't include my relationship status on Facebook."

"Since I discovered all fifteen of your Facebook friends and your Facebook enemy already knows we're married via the gossip machine that is life. It's been five weeks."

He raised his eyebrows. "How did you learn that?"

"I ran into your enemy in the cafeteria today, and he called me, and I quote, 'Mrs. Cooper, the old ball and chain.'"

Anger rose in Sheldon's chest. "I hope you explained to Kripke that type of language is unacceptable by breaking his nose."

Amy got up and came to him at the white board. "That's sweet, Sheldon, that you're defending me against the slur of being a ball and chain."

"I was referring to Mrs. Cooper. It's demeaning to your education and title. It's not even your name."

Amy smiled and leaned against him, looking over his equation. "But ball and chain is okay?"

"As I'm currently wearing a wedding ring for you, Dr. Fowler, I would say it's àpropos." He laughed at his own joke, but he wondered if she would smile at it, too. He hoped so. But his phone chimed again. "What fresh hell is this? Does Facebook now include a coitus status? Why don't you just put it on Twitter for the whole world to read?"

Amy did smile at that, while he read the email. "Oh. You've posted that you finished  _The Eyre Affair_  and you tagged me in it?"

"Do you not want the whole world of sixteen to know you occasionally read novels? I'll remove the tag on that post if you want."

Sheldon did not miss that she was offering to remove the tag on only this post. _Clever Amy._  He chose to ignore it. "Shall we discuss it? I think I need to clear my head of numbers. This works, but I don't like it."

"Yes, let's." She moved toward the kitchen, to start making tea. "Sleepytime?"

"It's after nine, is it not?" He sat down.

"Did you enjoy  _The Eyre Affair_?"

"Meh," he shrugged.

"What didn't you like about it?"

"I didn't say I didn't like it. If I didn't like it would have uggh. I said meh, which clearly indicates mediocrity, not dislike." He took the offered mug of tea.

Amy sat across from him at the kitchen island. "This was very surprising to me, but I felt the same."

"Why is that surprising? If we both thought it, it's clearly the correct opinion."

"Do you remember me telling you that I've read it before, when it was first published?"

"Of course."

"When I first read it, I loved it. I couldn't put it down. I waited impatiently for each sequel, and I loved each of them also. That's why I thought we would like. It's about  _Jane Eyre_ , which we've both read, but it's also science fiction. But this time, I thought, I don't know, it was missing something." She shrugged.

"I disagree. I think it had too many somethings. There was too many Shakespeare references. There was the vampire and werewolf hunter that was forgotten. There was episode in which Thursday plugged the temporal distortion that didn't progress the plot. Which, may I add, was completely unscientific. It took too long to arrive at what was supposed to be the primary purpose the book. It was page 266 before the  _Jane Eyre_  manuscript became a plot point."

"But you didn't hate it? That sounds like a lot of hate to me," Amy raised her eyebrows and took a drink.

"No, I didn't hate it. It was original. I like the idea of various timelines, I always have. And, once it gets to the  _Jane Eyre_  portion, it moves quickly and is clever."

"You can thank Mr. Rochester for that. He's always been the best thing on any page in which he resides."

"Mr. Rochester?" He'd never thought about it before.

Amy nodded. "Yes, Mr. Rochester has always appealed to me. He thinks deeply, he speaks beautifully, he knows the truth in every situation. There's something in his brooding nature I like."

"But he lies to Jane!" Sheldon was confused by Amy's ardor.

"I know. I didn't say he was perfect." She paused and gave him a little smile. "Sheldon, remember what he says here, about life being too short to allow little jealousies to infringe upon one's happiness."

"I'm not jealous of a fictional character!"  _Really, that is preposterous._

Amy continued to smile at him, in her little, sweet, knowing way, and every bit of jealousy he was feeling evaporated.  _My Amy._ Of that, he was certain.

"At least it was better that the original," Sheldon took a drink of his tea. He was relieved to change the subject.

" _Jane Eyre_? You don't like  _Jane Eyre_?"

He sighed. "It's not a crime to dislike  _Jane Eyre_ , Amy. It was so tedious. All that early business at school. And then that tangent when she ran away and almost married a man named St. John. St. John? Naming your child that is just preparing him for decapitation."

Amy chuckled. "I don't fully disagree with you. It's so well written that the first time you read it you manage to overlook things like that, but I tried to reread it once and found all I wanted were the events at Thornfield Hall. However, it has wonderful quotes."

"Quotes, smuotes. What use are quotes when you have a superior mind and are well articulated?"

"I seem to remember you using a quote from  _Jane Eyre_  to avoid talking about your feelings." Amy smirked at him.

_Drat. Amy knows me too well._ He squirmed in his seat. "As I recall, it didn't help in the least. You just let me stand there and suffocate until I did discuss my feelings. I think that proves my point."

"It helped."

"It did?" He was surprised.

"Yes. Because it was so lovely. So it actually proves my point, there are wonderful quotes." She took a drink of her tea, and then looked deep in thought for a moment. "There's another I like a great deal: 'I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.'"

Sheldon liked that very much. Was it because he also knew love was a virus, a tiny but life-altering organism one was powerless to stop and for which there was no cure? Or was it because she couldn't help loving him again every time she saw him?  _How does one reply to that?_

Inspiration struck him. "'Do you think I am an automaton? - a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! - I have as much soul as you - and full as much heart! ... It is my spirit that addresses your spirit.'"

Amy gave him that smile and look he loved so much.  _I've pleased her._ She spoke, "'"All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.'"

_Was this a contest?_ His competitive nature stirred. No one could beat him at memory recall, even Amy. He would win this game. "'I have little left in myself - I must have you. The world may laugh - may call me absurd, selfish - but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.'"

"'I ask you to pass through life at my side - to be my second self, and best earthly companion.'"

He crossed his arms and enunciated sharply, "'You - you strange - you almost unearthly thing! - I love as my own flesh. You - poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are - I entreat to accept me as a husband.'"

This was met with silence. At first, Sheldon's chest puffed up a bit.  _I've won!_  But, looking at Amy's unreadable face, he thought about what he said. Maybe that quote had been a mistake. "I didn't mean you are poor and plain, Amy."

"I know, it's not that. I loved it. It's just that," she took another drink and mumbled into her cup, "I can't think of any more. You win."

Sheldon grinned.  _I knew it!_

Amy spoke again. "About your equation. I think that you'll discover that if you make delta an independent variable, it will work better."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had forgotten all about his mathematical difficulty. Could she be correct? He got up and walked to his white board.  _Amy is right._ How is possible that he missed it? She walked over to join him.

"Ball and chain, eh?" she said with a smirk. She squeezed his arm and walked away. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

"In a minute. I need to do something first."

"Take your time. I know how you are when you're in the middle of calculating," her voice faded as she walked down the hallway.

Sheldon changed his equation to Amy's more pleasing solution, and studied it for several minutes. He put the marker down with a gentle sigh.  _What a strange power she holds over me._ He walked to his laptop and opened Facebook. He confirmed his Timeline reviews, and, with another sigh of contentment, changed his profile to include his relationship status.

Sheldon Lee Cooper is now married to Amy Farrah Fowler.

He looked at the words on the screen for a minute, and then he put his hands on the keyboard. He found himself grinning as he commented on his own status update.

"Reader, I married her."


	5. The Gift

_**If science turns Sheldon on, does literature turn Amy on? In which our Shamy get in between a different sort of covers. Thus begins the companion chapters to the Shamy Book Club .** _

**_Here we go: what happens after Book Club. Enjoy!_ **

* * *

**The Gift (takes place after _The Eyre Affair_ )**

* * *

" _Ball and chain, eh?" she said with a smirk. She squeezed his arm and walked away. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"_

* * *

Amy was still smiling as she undressed, after brushing her teeth and hair. Book club always put her in a good mood, and Sheldon had been especially cute tonight. And helping him with his equation had just been icing on the cake. His face!

She thought he would be up late working, so she was surprised when he walked in the bedroom just as she was grabbing a nightgown. "You're not staying up late?"

"No, I think I - well, you - have it to a good stopping place. I'll sleep on it," he answered. Then he smiled at her, her favorite smile, and walked over to kiss her. She was still holding the nightgown in her hand, and he put his hand over hers. "Maybe . . . no nightgown tonight?"

Amy smiled back at him and nodded. She put the nightgown back in the drawer. She felt giddy with excitement. Sheldon had just told her, with words!, what he wanted. This was a first. Well, rather a second, because the very first time he said it, too. But he had not said it since. After the first few times, he had struck upon the idea of just not wearing pajamas, or anything else, to bed. That was his way of asking. She found it charming even if she suspected he also did it so he wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night panicked about his discarded and unfolded pajamas littering the room. As charming as it was, though, she did long for him to someday say the words to her. Just about any variation of "I want you" would do. This felt like the first step.

She threw her panties into the hamper and got into bed. She sat there, watching him undress. She loved this show. She wondered if he knew how intently she was watching, how she always watched. He never acknowledged it, if he did. As with everything he did, there was an order and method. She always wanted to giggle when he folded his clothes before putting them in the hamper. It was so unnecessary and so Sheldon and so she loved it.

At last, it was her slender, naked husband coming to bed. Just thinking that sentence filled her awe. All of those words she thought she would never use.

Sheldon turned off the light, and they rolled toward each other. As always, there were a couple of gentle kisses first, and then Sheldon brought his hand up to her hair and everything deepened. Amy sank into him, his arms, his mouth, his smell. All the years of her life she thought about sex, she never thought it would be like this.

He was nibbling on her shoulder, and her hands were cupping his hind end, when she thought she would ask. She had wanted to, well, since the beginning, but after a few attempts in which Sheldon drew her hand away she had given up. But last week something new had happened, namely that she made her way to the top of their love pile, and it made her realize she could take control, too. She was amazed how empowered it made her feel. She wasn't just taking, she was giving, and Dear Lord! did it feel good.

"Dr. Cooper, may I touch you?" she whispered.

"You are touching me," he whispered back.

"No, I mean, Sheldon -" His head drew away from her. "Sheldon, I want to touch you, really touch you . . . there."

"Oh." She thought she heard him swallow. He whispered, "Uh, if you touch me there, you know I'll probably . . . and then we won't be able to . . . and I may be too tired to . . ."

"I know. That's okay," she replied, bringing her one of her hands up to touch his face. She continued to whisper to him. "Sheldon, if you don't want me to do something because you discover you don't like it or because it is uncomfortable, I always want you tell me right away. But, please, let's agree to never avoid something because we are frightened. Not here."

He didn't answer. Instead, he brought his forehead to hers. She felt his hot breath on her face. Finally, he spoke. "It will be messy."

"It always is." And then she kissed him, gently. This, in fact, had surprised Amy. When she speculated on sex with Sheldon, she assumed it would involve a shower afterwards. But it has not. She thanked the gods of biology, because Sheldon preferred to cuddle groggily until he fell asleep.

As she pulled away, Sheldon reached up for her hand, took it from his cheek, and kissed her palm. Then he nodded.

She reached down and gently caressed just the tip of him. She was rewarded with a short moan. She shifted down the bed slightly; sometimes the height difference was a problem. She knew what to do, but she wanted to investigate him first. His skin felt feverish there; she had noticed this before, in the early morning hours, when Sheldon sometimes woke her by pressing his hot self against her. That, combined with his rubbing of her hip, was his morning signal. His skin there was soft, too, so incredibly soft. The juxtaposition of the soft skin stretched so taut over the hardness beneath was very arousing.

Sheldon's breath came louder and faster as she gently caressed him. When she used just her index finger to follow around his ridge and then swiped the very tip of him again, he let out another moan. His fingers dig into her flesh slightly when she finally took a firm grasp of him. He let out his signature gasp.

And so, in the tight space between them, because he was holding her, she gave to Sheldon. He buried his face in her hair, and she took advantage of the change in position to treat his neck and chest to all the delights to which he usually treated her.

For the second time that night, she was gladdened when she heard him murmur into her hair, the first time he had ever asked for something specific. "Faster."

She sped up, ignoring the mild cramping in her forearm. She felt it, actually felt it, coming before his breath even caught in his throat. Then the deep, low moan she knew well just before the warmth spread on her stomach.

He kissed her on the forehead and then she tilted her head back to look at him. It still held the passive softness she loved. She shifted back up again, so she could look him in the eyes, and he surprised her by pulling her in for a tight hug. She had not thought he would want that mess on himself.

"My wife," he said and then he kissed her. He said it again when he pulled away, "My wife."

It is the first time he has used it as a term of endearment. He has said it in conversation, seeming to effortlessly slip it in where the words "my girlfriend" used to be. She did not understand why this act is what made him use it, but she did not care.

"I love you, too, Sheldon," she said.

"But I didn't say it first."

"Yes, you did." She kissed him this time. "I think maybe tonight a brief shower is in order?"

"Please."

* * *

**_As always, reviews are appreciated. Fair warning for what follows: s ** _ome "After Dark" chapters are long and some are painfully short. And some are mundane, because, well, married life & sex isn't always steamy._**_ **


	6. The Night Circus

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2015**

**Primary Topic: _The Night Circus_  by Erin Morgenstern _  
_**

* * *

Amy couldn't help it. She loved weddings. She couldn't explain it, not entirely, but it was real and visceral. She thought it would make a good nature versus nurture experiment someday.

After they had seen Leonard and Penny off on their honeymoon, she considered every element of the wedding, out loud, on the drive home. It was mostly a monologue, although she occasionally asked Sheldon a question and he answered her.

"Didn't Penny look like Venus herself?" she gushed.

"Maybe, if you like the farm hand look," Sheldon replied. He said it flatly, but Amy didn't notice. She was too busy waxing poetic.

And she was still babbling when they arrived back at 4A. She was still chattering when she went into the bathroom to take down her hair and wash her face. She stopped only to ask Sheldon to come in and unbutton her dress for her.

She did stop talking, briefly, to watch him in the mirror, intently focused on her buttons. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo. Amy had always loved him in a suit, and the bow tie was the icing on the cake.  _He looks like a brilliant James Bond._

She said, "I loved the ceiling at the reception! Whose idea was it to arrange the lights as constellations?"

Sheldon shrugged. "Raj."

Finished with her buttons, he walked away. She thought he was going to leave, but then he turned and leaned against the wall by the shower curtain. He crossed his arms. She could see him, watching her, in the mirror.  _Dangerous and sexy, defeating the Soviets with physics._

"Of course. I should have known that. Do you know what it reminded me of? It reminded me of  _The Night Circus_. I thought of it as soon as I saw it. You did say you finished the book, correct?" She stepped out of her dress and shoes, and she began to carefully fold the dress.

"Yes, this morning."

"Can we talk about it? I've been dying to talk about it! I thought you were never going to finish it."

"Alright."

"I just loved it! Loved it. I think it was the language." She began to fill the sink with warm water and she removed her glasses. "It was like the words were woven. Or something. It's so hard to describe, which is strange -" she put cleanser on her hand "- because it is a novel built out of words more than most books I've read. I could just get lost in the words." She began to rub the cleanser into her face. "It wasn't as though there were any unusually complex words, either, it was just the way the were strung together like . . . like jewels on a tiara."

Amy paused just long enough to bend over and splash water on her face. She continued to talked between more splashes. "The descriptions of the tents!" Splash. "Each was more magical and meaningful than the one before." Splash. "I liked the plot detail that you didn't know which character created which tent for a while, it gave you time to think about it and try to decide for yourself." Splash. "Did you figure them all out right away or were you surprised?"

She stopped to breathe and to reach for a towel.

"I knew right away."

"Not that you'd ever admit if you didn't. Anyway, which was your favorite? I loved them all, I have such a hard time making the decision." Her voiced started to become muffled by the towel patting her face, but she kept talking. "I thought maybe the ice tent because it reminded me of waking up to fresh snow when I was at Harvard. But then I think I would like the Pool of Tears, because I have wished often in my life that I could just put my tears and sorrows and loneliness inside a pebble and drop it away from me. Which was your favorite? I've been trying to guess which it would be, and I cannot. I'm not even sure you would have a favorite. The Cloud Maze, because it's a puzzle? The Bedtime Stories so you could smell fried chicken and pecan pie? Which was it?"

"The Wishing Tree. 'I wished for her.'"

This statement did make Amy pause. She looked at him in the mirror, but without her glasses, all she could see was a black and white shadow. She wondered if perhaps he was trying to start another quotation competition. But something shadowy in his voice told her he was not.

So she reached up to start pulling the pins out of her hair. "The scene with the book ship that had sails made of pages and the sea made of ink! Every avid reader of this book probably fell in love with that scene. The imagery was so striking. I thought of you in that scene. I thought I saw you in Celia. Some of the things she says. What did you think?"

"I saw you in that scene, as well. In Marco." He didn't elaborate.

Amy took her hair brush out of the drawer and started to brush out the curls. "What did you think off all the connotations of being bound? Because I finished it so many days before you, I looked up some of the critical reviews, and I was surprised that some critics didn't like that Celia and Marco were bond together before the knew each other. They didn't like that there never seemed to be a choice. But I always thought there was choice. They didn't have to interact. They met in person by chance. Well, not really chance, they were brought together without their consent. But they could have turned away right then. Just like the Reveurs, they sought each other out because they had like minds. They choose to build games together, to fill in the spaces the other one left empty. They respect each other, they appreciate the different ways the other approaches the same field of study. Even before they realize it, they start bending toward the other. They show their love with actions long before they say it with words. One of the themes of this book is that the finest of pleasures are the unexpected ones. Of course, there is also the theme of not being able to see the truth when one is the middle of the truth, so maybe that is contradictory."

"Not always." It is the first time he has spoken without prompting in what she suddenly realized was probably hours. How long had she been talking about the wedding even before she started talking about the book?

She put the brush down and put on her glasses. "Did you hate it, Sheldon? As I was reading it, I thought you might. It's not logical. It's not even chronological. There's a lot of emotion. I'm sorry you hated it. I'll let you pick next time."

"I didn't hate it. I actually . . . loved it. It made me understand some things." Again, he didn't elaborate.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Amy tried to will him to say more, but he didn't. She wondered if she would ever understand every cog and spring in his mind. It was a good thing she had the rest of her life to do it. She relished the promise of discovery.

"Amy, come here."

She turned in surprise at his tone. He sounded . . . what? She answered, "Am I talking too much?"

There were two ways that Amy had discovered to ignore Sheldon. The first was by being silent with him in the room. Sheldon actually enjoyed being ignored this way, she knew. She did, too. It was peaceful and companionable and full of contentment. The second, which she rarely did, was to talk too much about something she was interested in but he was not. Sheldon hated this. Eventually, he would get up with a heavy sigh and silently go to his old bedroom and shut the door. But he had not left her tonight.

So she walked the few steps to stand in front of her husband.

"No, it's not that." He took her hand and then a deep breath. "Do you regret that we didn't have a wedding?"

She stood there, goosebumps raising on her flesh in the chill of the bathroom, Sheldon's thumb gently tracing back and forth along her ring.

She considered lying and saying no. It would not have been a total lie. She thought it would be insufferable to plan a wedding with him, with all that sighing and eye rolling and mocking and poppycock. It was the type of thing that might break them. If they were breakable. Not having a traditional wedding had saved her from dealing with her mother, and for that she was grateful. The look on her mother's face and her cutting words when she and Sheldon had told her via Skpe had hurt her for days. But she wouldn't lie to him.

She considered turning the question around and asking him if he regretted it. But she knew the answer. He would have hated it. He would have done it, if she had asked, because he loved her; but he would have hated it. He as good as admitted it after they'd endured a twenty-three minute tongue lashing from his mother on speaker phone, and he'd said every second had been worth it to avoid a church wedding. She didn't ask him because she knew he didn't regret it.

Standing there, feeling more exposed and vulnerable in her underwear in front of Sheldon than she had in a long time, she told him the truth.

"Sometimes."

He nodded and swallowed. "If that's what you want, I'll do it. We'll do it. Anything you want, you can have. Whenever you want. I won't fight you. I want to make you happy."

A part of her wanted to say yes, a part of her wanted to plan the biggest wedding ever seen. In Texas. And that was saying something. She knew he meant it, he would do this for her, and he was even promising to try not to sigh and mock. But his eyes were killing her. It was the look she had hoped to never see from him. It was why she waited five years for him. It was why she moved in with him as a roommate, even though Penny and Bernadette had tried to discourage her. It was why she had never asked him, genuinely asked him, to become her lover before he was ready.

He would have done that, too, if she had seriously asked. Because it was what she wanted. He wouldn't have fought her over that, either, not really. She knew that with certainty. But she hadn't wanted him to do only because she asked, only because it was expected, only to make her happy. She had waited until he really, truly wanted her all for himself. It had been worth it.

Amy looked at him, and he suddenly looked so timid and small in his tuxedo even though he was taller than her. She shook her head. "No, I've already had a wedding. You are my husband, and I wanted - want - that more than any wedding."

Sheldon gave a little sigh, a mixture of relief and melancholy. "I don't think you can call an afternoon at city hall a wedding."

She took her hand from his, and put it on his cheek. "I wasn't talking about city hall."

He gave her his little half-grin of understanding.

Not having Sheldon's eidetic memory, Amy always had to concentrate to memorize things, like quotes from books. She could do it, of course, she was a genius in her own right. But there was one thing she'd memorized without concentrating at all. She repeated those words now.

"I love you. You make me glow with incandescence. You are an unsolvable puzzle, and I cannot resist that. I want to unlock you every day for the rest of my life. You are handsome and lanky and brilliant. I want to swim in your blue eyes. I have loved you for so long, I can't remember a time when I didn't love you. I love you more than science and cells and books. You think you are only the right side of the brain, but I know you are also the left side of mine. You are always exactly who are you. You make me laugh, you make me happy, you make me angry. You are dopamine and serotonin and oxytocin. You make me braver and stronger. You set my limbic system on fire. You are green tea and lemon zinger at the same time. I want to go supernova with you. I love you so much, Sheldon."

She looked into his eyes, lost in the moment. It was a look for the ages. Then she stood on her tip-toes to kiss him. His hands came up to her arms.

"I love you, Amy," he said when they parted. His palm rubbed her shoulder a little, and his expression changed. "Your skin is freezing. Are you cold?"

"Yes. Come to bed and warm me up."

He stood up straight and started to turn. "First you have to hang up your dress. And I have to take off this tuxedo."

"Leave it on."

"Why?" His brow furrowed.

"Because, Dr. Cooper, I want to be shaken, not stirred." Amy smirked and walked out of the bathroom.

Sheldon's voice came after her, "What does that mean?"

* * *

**_AN: A Shamyesque quote, for reference, from the chapter Stormy Seas:_ **

_"'I have spent a great deal of my life struggling to keep myself in control,' Celia says, leaning her head against his shoulder. 'To know myself inside and and out, everything kept in perfect order. I lose that when I'm with you. That frightens me, and -'_

_'I don't want you to be frightened,' Marco interrupts._

_'It frightens me how much I like it,' Celia finishes, turning her face back to his. 'How tempting it is to lose myself in you. To let go. To let you keep me from breaking chandeliers rather than constantly worrying about it myself.'_

_'I could.'_

_'I know.'_

_'I've tried,' Marco says, cupping her face in his hands. 'I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you. Do you not feel the same for me?'_

_'I do,' Celia say. 'I have you here, all around me. . . I felt it even before I know who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.'"_

 


	7. The Double Entendre

**The Double Entendre**

* * *

" _Because, Dr. Cooper, I want to be shaken, not stirred." Amy smirked and walked out of the bathroom._

_Sheldon's voice came after her, "What does that mean?"_

* * *

He followed her to the bedroom because, well, it was Amy. Of course he followed her. "Amy, that line is an iconic James Bond reference to an alcoholic drink. As I am not a bartender or even a fan of alcohol, I do not understand -"

"Shut up, Dr. Cooper."

Startled, Sheldon stopped talking.  _Is Amy angry? If so, why did she call me Dr. Cooper with_ that _infliction, when she draws out the O?_

Amy approached him and started to pull on his belt buckle. "If you are going to speak, Dr. Cooper, you are going to talk about speedboats."

"Speedboats?" He reached down to still her hands ( _what is she doing?_ ), but she slapped his hand away.

"No. Talk. Speedboats."

Abruptly, it occurred to Sheldon that this was a game. And the way Amy just threw the belt over her shoulder strongly implied this was a sex game. Just as abruptly, both his brain and body become excited at the idea.

"Amy, is this a -"

"Speedboats." She started to remove his jacket, sliding one sleeve down.

"Uh, okay." That was not really his area of expertise, but he was not going to argue. "A speedboat is another term for a motorboat. It is a boat that is powered by an engine as opposed to paddles or oars -"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Dr. Cooper." His jacket gone, she was pulling his shirt out of his pants.

He wanted to yell, 'Woman, I can't even think of the title of my last dissertation right now!' Instead, he said, "Uh, well, some motor boats have an outboard motor attached to the rear, but I think the speedboats to which you are referring have an inboard engine."

She had almost unbuttoned his shirt all the way up to his bow tie. He reached up to untie it for her, but she slapped his hand again.

"No. The tie stays on."

The rules of physics were rapidly leaving his brain, but he felt certain that it was impossible to take his shirt off while leaving the tie on.  _But who I am to disagree with my beautiful, determined wife who is wearing only her underwear?_

"The motor is an internal combustion engine. An internal combustion engine is an engine in which fuel combusts when it comes in contact with an oxidizer in a combustion chamber."

Amy had given up on the shirt collar, and had decided to remove the cuff links instead. Sheldon was too addled to feel any pride that he was correct. He was also satisfied that she didn't seem to mind that he wasn't really talking about the physics of speedboats, rather just the mechanical engineering of them. It was so much easier to recall those simple details in the moment.

"The expansion of high-temperature and high-pressure gasses produced by this combustion are applied to some other component of the engine, usually a nozzle or piston -" Suddenly, his pants and his underwear are around his ankles in one fell swoop. Amy's face was very close his . . . his . . . "- a piston or the other thing . . ." He was forced to made a spinning motion with his hand.

The corners of Amy's mouth turned up, but instead of allowing herself a full smile she pushed him forcefully onto the bed. He landed with a flop.

"Lie down," she ordered. She bent down to untie a shoe. "Keep talking."

He spoke at the ceiling, feeling first his shoes, then his socks, and finally his pants fall completely away from him. "There are two types of internal combustion engines, intermittent and continuous. Incorrectly, some people think steam engines belong are combustion engines. Steam engines are not a type of internal combustion engine, that is a . . . a . . . uh . . ."

Amy stood and leaned over him, and blew into his ear. "What is it, Dr. Cooper?" She stood back up. One bra strap fell down. "An error?" She brought the other one down. "A misconception?" One reach behind her and the bra was gone. "Inaccurate?" She dropped her panties. "A blunder?"

She crawled over him, a deep smirk on her face. It was, indeed, the naughtiest smirk he had ever seen her use.

"A boner?" she asked.

_What is so funn - Oh!_  He took the risk of another slap. "Amy, what's gotten into you?"

"Hopefully, you." And then her mouth was on his mouth.

He had no idea what had happened to his wife, but, he discovered, he really didn't care.  _Good Lord, what a kiss!_  He reached up to run his thumbs over her nipples, and she shuddered. Pulling away from his lips, she grabbed his shoulders, and he rolled with her. She murmured in his ear, "Touch me."

"Already?" he whispered.

"I've been ready ever since you put that tie on." She said it brazenly, not whispering.

_Amy tonight!_ he thought.

"Speaking of which, can I take it off? And the shirt? You know I don't like to be half -" he stopped. He saw the flash across her face. Disappointment. He regretted asking. "Never mind."

He bent in for another kiss, and he brought his hand down to her center. She moaned softly into his mouth. He kissed her deeper, mimicking the actions of his fingers with his tongue. She pulled away, her breath coming fast and hard. He moved on to her neck and her wonderful collar bones.

Then he heard it, the first inhalation, sooner than he would have thought.  _Fascinating._  Five inhalations and the cry. Just when he was about to stop and pull his hand away something happened. Namely, another short inhalation. Then two more and anther cry.

Had she just . . . ? Had he just made her . . . ? Her skin, her beautiful skin, was flushed and glistening; her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were so bright. His ribcage expanded with pride.  _Eat your heart out, James Bond!_

She smiled at him, that smile. Then she pulled at his crisp white shirt, and he came into her. She felt better than any Bond babe he could ever imagine.

* * *

_**As always, reviews are read and loved!** _


	8. The Hound of the Baskervilles

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2015**

**Primary Topic: _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The God of the Hive_  by Laurie R. King**

* * *

Sheldon was just finishing the last paragraph when he became aware of the comforter being pulled down and away from him.

"Why are you taking the covers off?" he asked as he closed the book and shifted to set it on the nightstand.

"Because it's an inferno in here, and I am not sleeping under all those blankets."

He turned to look at her then and gave a little gasp. "Amy, what are you wearing? Where is your nightgown?"

"You know very well what this is. It's one of your tee shirts. It's too hot for a nightgown. Remind me again why we came to Texas in July."

Without a trace of confusion, Amy slid into the  _Star Wars_  sheets next to him. The top sheet settled over her legs and clearly outlined them in the bed. Sheldon can't help but stare at them, overwhelmed by the strangeness of this scene. Amy - a woman! his wife! half-naked! - in his childhood bed, in his childhood bedroom, in his mother's house.

He tried to think of something logical and casual to say. Should he point out that he only brought two tee shirts for each day, so now if he spilled YooHoo on one he would no longer have a back up? Should he point out that Amy was just as capable as he was of looking up the weather forecast and packing accordingly? Should he tell her to suck it up and endure the heat, just as he has every night he has slept in this bed, with his full pajamas and a comforter? Should he give in and allow her to turn on the ceiling fan, after all, even though he had trouble sleeping thinking of those blades of death whirring above him?

Instead, he blurted out, "Amy, I told you! Not in my mother's house!"

Amy raised her eyebrows, and the beginning of a smile formed at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, Dr. Cooper, you like the tee shirt?"

'No, no, no!" Sheldon scrambled out of bed. "Amy, no."

Her smiled faded. She gave a little sigh. "Calm down, Sheldon, I was teasing. Get back in bed. I'll stay on my side."

He nodded and crawled back in, but he hugged the edge of the mattress with his body. He reached over to turn off the light, and he laid there in silence and darkness. Amy had pulled away from him to give him the space he wanted, but he found her absence distracting.

"Amy?"

"Yes?"

"I can't sleep."

Sheldon felt her roll in the bed, and she shifted closer. But she still didn't touch him. She said, "Do you want me to sing Soft Kitty to you?"

"I'm not sick."

"Do you want me to list the elements of the Periodic table? The Fibonacci sequence? Pi?"

"No."

"Do you want me to read to you?"

"No, I just finished it. And I don't want the light on."

Silence fell. Sheldon shifted.

Amy spoke. "Sheldon, do you want to talk about the book? I know it's not technically the end of the month, but it might help."

Would it help? Maybe. "I don't suppose it could make it any worse."

He heard her give a little breath out, the one that meant she was smiling. "We'll try it." She cleared her throat. " _The Hound of the Baskervilles._  I was surprised you picked it. It's not science fiction."

"It was on  _Sherlock_."

"Oh, of course. Were you disappointed, then?"

"Yes and no. I was mostly disappointed that Sherlock Holmes wasn't in it as much as I thought he would be. It's Watson's story, not his," he replied.

"They all are. Watson is writing a diary or memoir. Like in _Sherlock_ , where John has a blog. I'm surprised you never read any Sherlock Holmes stories."

"No, it was never required. I did know that they were told by Watson. I just meant I thought Holmes would be in this more, that Watson would say more about him."

"You love Sherlock Holmes, don't you?"

Sheldon sighed. "No, I do not love Sherlock Holmes. It's foolish to love a fictional character."

"Spock?"

_Drat._  "Don't be absurd. That's respect and understanding, not love."

"Whatever you say."

Sheldon didn't reply. When did Amy get to know him so well? After a moment, he spoke. "I did like it. Not as much as  _Sherlock_ , though. The solution was obvious to anyone with a superior mind. Although I hoped the hound would be a mechanical beast. Isn't there a cliché that all books are better than the movie? Proof that is not true. Clichés are for hippies."

"I like them both. They are different. Holmes is calmer in the books. Maybe we should read Laurie R. King's Mary Russell series. Watson isn't in them much at all."

"What are they?" he asked. He turned to look toward her in the dark. His eyes had adjusted to the dim, and he could make out her profile.

"A series of Sherlock Holmes mysteries, but told from the viewpoint of his wife, Mary Russell. They're fabulous."

"The great Sherlock Holmes gets married?"

"Why is that surprising? The great Sheldon Cooper got married." She rolled to look at him.

"Oh."  _Of course._ "Is she a genius also?"

"I don't think that word is used to describe her, but perhaps in her own way. But she's certainly a saint."

"A saint?"  _Oh, sarcasm._  Because it was dark, Sheldon allowed himself to smile. But he said, "I do not appreciate your impertinent attitude."

Amy chuckled. "In one of the books, _The God of the Hive_  I think, some of the story is even told from Holmes point of view. You might like that." She paused. "Although maybe not."

"Why not? A scientific treatise? I would like that."

"No, it's part of the narrative. It's a been a few years since I read it, but there may even be some emotions in it. About his wife." He heard Amy smile again. "I'm sure you're appalled the great Sherlock Holmes would write emotional flimflam about his wife."

Sheldon choose not to reply. All was silent again.

"Did you also pick this book because it's about a journey?" she asked after several minutes.

"What do you mean?"

"That Homes and Watson leave their cozy home for the wild unknowns of the moor. It made me wonder if you were thinking about our trip here, to Texas."

Again, he did not answer. The knot that had been growing in his stomach for a few weeks made itself manifest again. A lengthy silence fell. Sheldon tried to lay still, but he could not keep from squirming.

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever is troubling you."

Amy had done it again. She had reached out and put her finger on the very pulse of his mind. A soft sigh escaped his lips. "I'm nervous about tomorrow. The party."

"Ah, I thought so." Amy sat up in bed and turned to face him. He could see her form outlined in the moonlight seeping in around the blinds. "Why are you nervous?"

"What if you hate them all? Or worse, they don't like you? My family is exceedingly difficult. Except MeeMaw." It was always so easy to talk to Amy like this in the dark.

"You don't own the entire market share on difficult families. You've met my mother. And I like your mother, despite her religious tendencies. I thought we had a good evening here tonight."

Sheldon thought about their evening. It had been pleasant. But confusing. "When did you start liking my mother? When did she start liking you? I never understood that. She didn't like you at first, she forbade us from seeing each other. Then she never mentioned it again. Now you even have conversations without me."

Amy shrugged. "I don't know. These things happen."

Occasionally, when his mother came up in conversation, he had the oddest sensation that he was missing something critical that Amy knew and he did not. Once, he asked Amy about it, and she told him they shared women's intuition. He never believed in women's intuition, so he knew this was not the whole truth. Sheldon had that feeling again that something was shared between his mother and Amy he would never understand. He could never decide if he hated that or loved that.

After a moment, he spoke, "Are you nervous?"

"A little. Not much, though."

This surprised Sheldon. Amy loved to be included in groups. Amy longed to accepted by others. This was a difference between them. Was she just putting a brave face for him? In the dark, he could not see her eyes, so he could not be sure. "Really? Why not?"

"Because you'll be there."

With four words, Amy had crystalized everything. Every time this happened, every time Amy gave him clarity and tranquility, he was astounded anew. He sat up himself, so that he could touch her cheek. She tilted her head slightly, reaching to meet his hand. He wondered if he did that, too: unconsciously bending toward Amy's touch.

"Amy, you're right."

He felt her smile. She answered, "I'll stand by you the whole time. I'll hold your hand if you think it would help."

"No, not that. I know you'll be there. I meant that it is indeed an inferno in here."

She laughed and her face broke away from his hand. He loved the sound of her laughter but missed the feeling of her face.  _Bittersweet._

Sheldon sat up, shifted to the edge of the bed and started to remove his pajamas.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? Taking my pajamas off." After folding them carefully, he got back under the sheet. "I cannot believe you have brought me to sleeping only in my underpants"

Amy laid down, then, too. "You've slept in less."

"Hush, vixen."

Amy laughed again, and he reached out for her, pulling her closer. "Will this make you too hot?"

"No. But no ideas, Dr. Cooper."

He wondered if she was remembering another conversation, in another strange bed, many months ago. "Of course not, Dr. Fowler. We still have seven days to go."

"Quite."

Sheldon smiled in the dark, realizing she did remember, and whispered in Amy's ear, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Sheldon," she whispered back.

Then he was finally able to fall asleep.


	9. Dreams

**The Dreams**

* * *

_Amy laughed again, and he reached out for her, pulling her closer. "Will this make you too hot?"_

" _No. But_ _no ideas, Dr. Cooper."_

* * *

She heard his breath deepen, and then she fell asleep herself, wrapped in his arms.

He dreamt that he was upon the moor, running through the cold night air. The hound was upon him, the hoof-beats coming ever closer, its howling carrying through the stillness. But its bays were not the typical cries of a dog; instead they sounded like numbers, numbers coming louder and faster, one after another. The numbers made no sense, there was no logical order to them. As he ran, his heart beat ever faster. Then he saw it upon a ridge: a turret, a relic of old fortress. He ran to this fortification, he ran around it, trying to find a way inside. He closed his eyes and asked, under his breath, for the fortress to take him. Suddenly, he was inside and all was calm and quiet. His heart slowed. The answer to the equation the dog was barking was seventy-three.

She dreamt that she knocked on the door of 221B, and the door opened without anyone answering it. She climbed the stairs to the study, but it was empty. The room was in turmoil, papers and books and cards strewn everywhere. Suddenly she had a wand, and she waved it, twirling it in the air until the room was clean. Then he was in the room, standing and smoking his pipe, but she didn't know where or when he had come from. He said, "Capital improvement, my dear, you are the only one who knows how to clean up this disarray." And then she was hugging him, and he smelled like pecan pie.

At some point in the night, he stole the sheet. Shortly thereafter, despite the prior complaints about the heat, the chill in the room drove her to start burrowing under him, her face deep in his back. Neither of these acts awoke them. It was their custom, and it was as comforting as all their other routines.

* * *

_**Well, I did promise painfully short . . . don't hate me. Thank you for the (hopefully still) kind reviews.** _


	10. The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2015**

**Primary topic: _The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry_ by Gabrielle Zevin**

**Other book(s) mentioned: _The Canterbury Tales_  by Geoffrey Chaucer,  _Pride and Prejudice_  by Jane Austen, the  _Harry Potter_  series by J.K. Rowling**

* * *

There were days Amy really, truly hated that the elevator was broken. Today was one of those days. She was exhausted and it was late. The only thing giving her strength to climb those stairs was the knowledge that she had left everything completed and correct: her study finished, her report filed, her paper written and submitted.

It was when she turned the corner half-way up the third level of stairs that she smelled it. A little blessing, washing over her. Sheldon's sour-dough bread.

She stood at the door before entering, listening to see what he and Leonard were up to. But all she heard was the Final Jeopardy! theme music. And Sheldon yelling out the answer. Another blessing, a quiet night.

He stood when she entered the apartment. "Well?"

"It's done. I took tomorrow off. You'll be able to get a ride with Leonard again?" She put her keys in the bowl.

"I'm sure. It's always a delight to commute with me."

"Where is Leonard? I thought he'd be here." Leonard had been over more than usual lately, now that Penny was filming a movie.

"Apparently Penny wrapped early, whatever that means."

"Ah." Amy turned toward the kitchen to microwave something to eat and slice some of that yummy bread when she saw them on the island. "Sheldon, are those candles? And you baked. Is this a romantic meal?"

He gave a quiet snort of derision. "Don't be absurd. They came today. Watch," he walked over to the island to show them off, "they're  _Star Wars_  Lightsaber Candlesticks. From ThinkGeek. Turn out the lights."

Amused, Amy flipped the light switch. Two glowing tapers, one green and one blue, were the only source of light.

"See? When you light the candles, they look like real lightsabers. Except they don't make that cool humming noise."

_If only I had known that was all it took to get a candlelit meal from Sheldon, I would have bought them years ago._  She walked to the kitchen to stand next to him and leaned against him.

He looked down at her. "You look exhausted."

"I am."

"Let me get you some food. You sit down."

Amy smiled as he left her side. "What did you eat? Chinese?"

"I haven't eaten yet. I waited on you. And it's broccoli cheddar soup."

"I told you not to wait on me. And soup? Are you cooking now, too?" Amy raised her eyebrows in surprise. And happiness.

"No. It's from a new deli. Leonard wanted to get something there. Apparently, it is Penny's new favorite. I've kept it warm for you." He ladled soup from a pot on the stove into bowls.

"You bought dinner from a new restaurant?"

Sheldon set the bowls on the island. "I don't know why you're surprised. You're the one always telling me I should try new things. Leonard vouched for it. And I looked up the restaurant inspection reports on the board of health website while I was in line."

Amy picked up her spoon when Sheldon put down the container with a loud thump next to her bowl. He said with emphasis, "Butter."

She chuckled, as she always did, at his butter ritual.

"How long did your paper end up being?" Sheldon sat down across from her.

"Actually, I'd rather not talk about it tonight. It seems like the only thing I've been talking about and thinking about lately."

He looked at her, obviously confused. Sheldon never tired of talking about his work. Amy shrugged back at him and took another bite.

"Very well," he said with a tiny sigh. "You'll tell me about it tomorrow?"

"I promise."

"Okay."

They ate for a few minutes in peaceful silence. Then Sheldon spoke again. "You know what we do have to talk about tonight?  _The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry_. It's the end of the month."

"Oh, yes. You're right."

"Of course I am. I've been waiting days to tell you that was a lot of sentimental poppycock, and I didn't like it. It was a complete waste of time."

Amy was not surprised. "I admit it was more sentimental that I thought it would be. I wouldn't have asked you to read it if I had known. I thought we might like it because I thought it was going to be more about learning to enjoy books, so I thought it would be familiar to us. We'll go back to science fiction."

He shrugged. "You didn't know. And I suppose that's the point of reading. Self-discovery."

"That's a deep thought." That did surprise Amy.

"You told me that once."

She has no memory of this. It was not a novel sensation, with Sheldon, that he remembered something she did not. But it is never an easy sensation. She wanted to remember it all.

"Well, I liked it," she said. "But I didn't love it. I thought it was sweet, but it was too obvious and simple. I liked the way everyone's lives improved with reading, especially reading books together. I liked that when A.J. proposes to Amelia he states that he wants to always be reading the same book as her."

"That's illogical, you know. You can't always be reading the same book, all the time. If we were always reading the same book, I'd never get anything done."

Amy smiled. "That's because you're a slower reader than me."

"Am not! I know how to speed read, you know that. I have just chosen not to speed read our books because they are so important to me."

There is almost nothing Amy loved more than making Sheldon just indignant enough that a little compliment, a little loving phrase, slipped out of his mouth without his knowledge. She took a bite of bread to hide her smirk.

"Amy?"

"Yes?"

"I should confess that I once speed read one of your books."

Amy was a little startled by that. It had to have been one of the first books, because as long as they've been living together she was certain he'd never done that. "Really? Which one?"

" _Pride and Prejudice_." He hung his head slightly.

"When? Are you talking about in college? That doesn't count."

"No," he sighed. "I reread it once a couple of years ago. After you tried to ruin  _Raiders of the Lost Ark_  for me. I wanted to find all of its flaws. But there weren't any. It's a masterpiece."

"I know it is." She paused. "And perhaps we were both a little childish that week. I should not have ruined your movie for you."

"You're not mad?"

"Sheldon, if I got mad about every childish thing you've ever done in your life,  _I'd_ never get anything done." She smiled at him to let him know she was teasing him a little. But not entirely. She knew he would ignore it, and he did.

"I was thinking about what  _Pride and Prejudice_  or  _The Canterbury Tales_  say about you," he spoke. "Because in this book, A.J. says that you can tell everything you need to know about a person from their favorite book."

"I don't agree with that. Maybe a person's top five or ten books, but not just one book."

"That makes sense. Because obviously you need to know the entire  _Harry Potter_  series to understand me."

"Do tell."

"Isn't it obvious? Boy genius, kept down by a family who doesn't understand or appreciate him until he gets to go to a magical place called school. There, his genius is on display for everyone. He is the only one who can save the world."

Amy laughed. "That's one interpretation."

Sheldon gave her a soft glare back.

"Do you want to know what part really confused me about this new book?" he asked.

"Of course," Amy replied quickly. She did not want to know this just because she wanted to know everything Sheldon wanted to tell her, but also because she had learned more about him from the things that confused him than from the things he understood completely.

"I didn't understand the part about buying the underwear. And then Amelia cried over the new underwear, because she thought no one would ever love her so much. How is something as prosaic as buying underwear an act of love?"

She tilted her head. "I think it could be an act of love. Most acts of true love are prosaic. You can't have a candlelit meal every night. I would buy your underwear for you."

Then Sheldon did his incredibly cute interested-but-slightly-confused face she loved. "Really? I'm extremely particular about my underpants. You would have to know the right kind, the right brand, the right size, the correct number to purchase. That's a lot of details."

"Yes. One day it will be on my list at Target, between laundry detergent and paper towels." The thought made her chuckle. "That's when we'll know this thing is forever. The day Sheldon Cooper relinquishes control over his underwear purchases."

He rolled his eyes. She laughed again.

Amy felt so much better now than when she arrived home. Without admitting it, Sheldon had shown her how much he loved her. He waited for her. He tried something new for her. He baked for her. He even agreed to not discuss science tonight for her. Each of his prosaic acts of love awoke her.

Then a thought occurred to her. The candles! She couldn't believe she didn't realize it sooner. Work had been too distracting, she supposed. "Sheldon, today is the one year anniversary of our Book Club."

He looked down at his empty bowl. "Oh, is it? I didn't realize," he said, unconvincingly.

_He is a horrible liar. I love him so much._  Amy got off her stool. "We shouldn't waste these candles. I have an idea."

"What?" He turned to watch her as she walked over to her computer. The sounds of rumba music filled the apartment.

"Dance with me. Even though it's not prosaic." She walked to the middle of the living room. He smiled, her favorite smile, and got up to her join her.

* * *

Two nights later, Amy set her purse in the front of the red cart and pulled out her list. It was longer than she remembered, but she had plenty of time before Sheldon would want to be picked up at the model train store.

Then she saw it, in Sheldon's almost illegible scrawl, written right under laundry detergent. "Underpants."

Her smile lit up the whole store.


	11. Self-Control

_**Self-Control** _

* * *

" _Dance with me. Even though it's not prosaic." She walked to the middle of the living room. He smiled, her favorite smile, and got up to her join her._

* * *

The first song ended and they smiled once more at each other.

"Again? We should dance more often," Sheldon said.

"Yes," Amy replied but it ended with a yawn.

"Poor kid, you really are exhausted."

"Sorry. It was my idea, and I'm spoiling it."

Sheldon dropped his hands and walked over to her computer. The music stopped. "No, we'll do it again another night. We'll schedule it."

Amy smiled at him again, softer. "Sheldon, would you mind if I went to bed instead of watching TV with you?"

"Go. I'll clean up the kitchen." He walked back toward her.

She reached up and put a kiss on his cheek before leaving for the bathroom.

Sheldon applied himself to cleaning.  _Ah, the simple joys!_ But when everything was cleaned to his satisfaction, he felt at loose ends. He wasn't sure why. He kept thinking back to Amy's tired face. Work never made him tired. He would always eagerly talk about any project, no matter how long he'd been working on it. And Amy normally loved to talk about her work. She really was the most exhausted he'd ever seen her tonight, and it unsettled him.

Frowning, he went to the bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoes off but otherwise she was still dressed. She was playing idly with her hair.

"Amy?" She jumped. "Are you okay?"

She smiled softly. "I guess I zoned out there. I was going to braid my hair, but I just sort of . . ." She shrugged.

"Here," he sat on the bed next to her, "let me."

She turned away and let him smooth her hair. "I still can't believe you know how to braid hair."

"It's not very difficult. A chimpanzee could do it." His fingers deftly worked the three sections into a manageable plait.

"Sadly, I suspect that study has already been done." She sighed.

Sheldon finished the braid, allowing a minute to pass before speaking. "Amy?"

She reached over her shoulder with the hair elastic, and, even though he took it, it was not want he wanted. "Are you alright?" He wrapped the end of her braid.

Turning back around toward him, Amy shook her head. "I'm fine. I really am just tired. And, well," she looked down, "sometimes after I finish I study I wonder if it's any good enough."

"What? Why do you think that? The only person as smart as you is me." What had happened to Amy's bravado?

"I know. I really do know. But sometimes . . ."

"Amy Farrah Fowler, listen to me. I do not, repeat, do not, pair-bond with average people. You are the most intelligent person I know. If someone doesn't understand something in your work, then they are clearly wrong." He leaned over to kiss her softly, but he brought his hands up the buttons on her cardigan.

Silently, he unbuttoned her cardigan and slid it off her shoulder. He folded it next to them on the bed. Then he repeated the steps with her blouse. He wasn't sure, exactly, what he was doing. Amy let him, but her face was unreadable. He thought maybe he should leave her alone, to sleep, that is what she had asked for; but he didn't want to leave her without her knowing how perfect she was. But it felt wrong to start this, to ask her to do something for which she was too tired. Maybe if he could find a way to relax her instead.

"Amy, would you like me to massage your back?"  _Massages are supposed to be relaxing._

Her eyes lit up.  _I've pleased her._ She nodded. "Let me take these off first."

She stood and removed her skirt, tights, and, he noticed after a barely perceptible pause, her bra. He took them from her and folded them on the pile. Pulling her braid away from her back, she sat down again, presenting her back to him, awaiting the promised rub.

Except Sheldon had no idea what to do.  _Why does this always happen to me? Why does Amy always drive me to do something spontaneous, when I am clearly uncomfortable with the concept of spontaneity?_  He frowned.

"If you take your right hand and -" she said.

"No, I'll do it," he interrupted her. It would not be relaxing for Amy to tell him what to do. But he was quickly regretting his offer, because he needed time to research this first. His only experience with anything close to a massage had been when Amy had instructed him on how to soothe the tension from his own shoulder.

And that is where he would start. Remembering her own precise instructions, he started the sequence. He was using his knuckles in noogie-like fashion when she let out something between a deep breath and a moan.

 _Oh boy._  He cursed his body.  _This was meant to be relaxing to Amy, not foreplay!_  He took a couple of Kulinar breaths, trying to keep them as quiet as possible, and straightened his spine.  _No, I will do this for her._

He repeated the same steps on the opposite shoulder, and then started to knead the top of her shoulders like they were balls of sour-dough bread ( _kneading is like massaging, right?_ ). "Is this okay?"

"Mmmm, it's nice."

Her appreciation was encouragement. He took his thumbs and pushed down lightly on either side of her spine. Making circles, he pushed a little harder. Amy gave another little breath-moan and leaned forward slightly. Sheldon slowly inched the circular rubs all the way down her spine.

Taking his hands away from her, he was at a new loss. What now?

"Sheldon? Would you mind rubbing my legs?"

 _Double oh boy._  The last time, the only time, he'd massaged her legs . . . "Um . . . okay. Maybe you should lie down."

"Yes." She got up and started pulling the covers down. He jumped up to move the pile of clothes to the hamper, refusing to look at his topless wife.

She laid down on her side of the bed and closed her eyes. He was glad he had braided her hair, because the very idea of it fanned across her pillow was almost too much. He picked up one of her feet and starting rubbing it while keeping a steady gaze on juncture of the ceiling and the wall.

"What are you looking at?"

"I thought your eyes were closed."  _Now I have to look at her._

"They were, but I opened them."

"Uh, well shut them again. This is supposed to be relaxing. Shut your eyes. And don't talk. That's not, um, relaxing."

She shut her eyes again, but not before Sheldon saw the twinkle in them. The twinkle both mortified him ( _she knows of my struggle!_ ) and made the struggle worse ( _the twinkle drives me mad!_ ).

Sheldon worked his way up one leg, making deep, squeezing motions. When he made it up as far as he dared ( _am I perspiring?_ ), he started on her other leg. He heard her breathing deepen.

Was she asleep? When he finished her second leg, he bent down to her ear and whispered, "Do you want a nightgown?"

She didn't answer. He softly kissed her forehead. He wanted to tell her so many things. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was when she slept. He wanted to tell her how much she excited him in the most carnal of ways even at inopportune times. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that she was astute and perceptive and resourceful and exceptional and wise. He wanted to tell her that her brilliance was brighter than any sun in the universe. He wanted to tell her that he never wanted her to think otherwise.

Instead, because he was Sheldon Cooper, he whispered, "I love you, Amy."

He got up, pulled the blankets over her, turned off the light, and went to take a much-needed shower.


	12. Soulless

_**And now for something different . . .** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2015**

**Primary topic: _Soulless (The Parasol Protectorate)_ by Gail Carriger**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_  by J.K. Rowling,  _The Kama Sutra_  by Vatsyayana**

* * *

Knock, knock, knock. "Leonard and Penny."

Knock, knock, knock. "Leonard and Penny."

Knock, knock, knock. "Leonard and Penny."

The door opened to Leonard's face. "Sheldon. What a surprise."

Penny walked into the room behind him. "Sheldon! What a surprise!"

Leonard turned to her. "And you said we wouldn't regret buying a house on the bus route."

"Be nice, Leonard," Penny said. She walked up to Sheldon. "Come in, sweetie. What's up?"

"Why would something be up? Can't I just come to visit my dearest friends in their new home? Besides, I have to pick out my spot before your party this weekend." Sheldon lifted his satchel off his shoulder.

"Did you and Amy get in a fight? You cannot just coming running over here -" Penny had started on a lecture he had heard before.

Sheldon interrupted her with a large sigh. "No, we did not have an argument."

It was the truth. They hadn't fought. As with everything Sheldon and Amy did together, they excelled at fighting. If they fought, truly fought, he knew it. It was never just a fight, it was a battle. It was epic. Almost as epic as the making up afterwards.

Tonight he had simply found himself unable to breathe, and he got up and left.

Sheldon sat down on the chair closest to the door. Would this do? It was comfortable. But he didn't like his back to the door.

"Are you hungry? We just finished dinner. I could microwave a plate for you," Penny offered.

"Sadly, I will miss the pleasure of finally eating food in your home for which I never paid and have no intention of doing so."

Penny shot him a dirty look. She flopped down in a huge chair across from him. Sheldon got up and moved to the left end of the sofa.  _This is better._

"Do you want to play Halo?" Leonard asked, then squeezed into the chair with Penny and put his arm around her.

_Now it's perfect. This is my spot._  Sheldon shrugged. "Nah."

"We could watch something," Penny suggested.

"Nah."

"Okay, dearest friend, you came over here, why don't you tell us what you want to do?" Leonard's asked.

"I was thinking about steampunk," Sheldon replied.

"Steampunk?" Penny asked.

"What are you suggesting we do with steampunk?" Leonard asked, furrowing his heavy brows.

"What's steampunk?" Penny asked again.

"Talk about it. I was never interested in it as an alternate version of science, but I can see the appeal now," Sheldon said.

"What is steampunk!" Penny yelled.

Leonard turned to her. "It's what Victorians thought the future would be like. Like H. G. Wells."

"Oooh, obviously," Penny said, screwing up her face.

Sheldon rolled his eyes. "It's sub-genre of science fiction that speculates on what civilization would have been like if steam power instead of electricity became the primary power source for all technology in an alternative reality Victorian era, most often taking place in Britain."

"Well, that clears it up," Penny replied, shaking her head. "And why are we talking about it?"

"I just read a book about it," Sheldon shrugged and tried to look very interested in a piece of lint on his pants. "I thought maybe I - we could talk about it."

"Oh, what did you read? One of those manuals with gadgets? It might be fun to build some of that stuff. I'm sure Howard would be into it," Leonard said.

"No, it was a . . . novel."

"Huh." Leonard screwed up his face even more. "So you read a steampunk novel and now you're into it?"

"It this something else I'm going to have to learn the jargon for?" Penny asked.

"Considering that you never learned the jargon for  _Star Trek_ , I don't think any of us are expecting that." Sheldon looked at her and then back to Leonard. "Yes, exactly. That's what I said. I now understand the appeal."

He sighed heavily. This was the night to talk about the book. He needed to talk about the book. Why were Leonard and Penny being so obtuse?

"Okay, I give up Sheldon. Tell us all about the appeal of steampunk." Leonard relaxed his face and leaned back into the chair with Penny.

Sheldon narrowed his eyes slightly and looked back and forth between their expectant faces. Where they serious? He took a deep breath.

"Very well. I have just finished a book entitled  _Soulless_. As I mentioned, it's a steampunk novel, but it also includes other elements of fantasy such as werewolves and vampires. Actually, the werewolves and vampires may be the central focus and the steampunk may be secondary. The protagonist is a preternatural, which in this context is used to refer to a person without a soul. It is that absence of soul that allows her to neutralize the effects of the supernatural world, thus rendering both the werewolves and vampires harmless."

As he had been speaking, Penny's eyebrows had been creeping ever higher and Leonard's had been creeping ever lower. It was an interesting contrast he had never noticed before in them, and he paused a moment to consider it.

"The steampunk elements become more apparent in the later half of the book, especially the climax beneath the Hypocras Club. I won't ruin it for you. Although if you understand how hypocras is made, you might already know exactly what is happening. Anyway, it was . . . exciting. I enjoyed reading it." Then he frowned slightly. "But I think parts of this novel were supposed to be humorous. I will have to ask Amy, she will explain it to me. Also there were a lot of comments about hats and bustles and other feminine accoutrements; Amy will have to expound on that. And there was coitus in this book, and I don't usually read books with coitus. I'm sure Amy will -"

Penny interrupted. "Okay, what's going on here? Why are you talking so much about a book? Did you watch  _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ again and now you're afraid all books have claws and will try to eat you?"

"No. Tonight is Fowler Cooper Publication Federation Night and -"

"The what?"

Sheldon sighed hard. Penny was always interrupting. "Amy and I read a book together on every odd-numbered month, and we always discuss it on the last evening of the month. Tonight is the last evening of November. I need to discuss the book."

Penny looked at Leonard. "Did you know about this?"

Leonard shrugged. "Yea, kind of. Howard told us. Raj thinks it's adorable."

"So is it weird? Or is it the most normal thing they've done? Or is weird again because it's the most normal thing they've done?" Penny was still talking to Leonard, ignoring Sheldon.

"Yes. Don't try to understand it," Leonard said.

"As I was saying," Sheldon spoke extra loudly, "I'm supposed to discuss the book tonight, but I can't discuss it at home."

"Isn't Amy home? Isn't she supposed to give you two weeks notice if she's not going to be home or something?" Leonard asked.

Sheldon glared at him. "Yes, Amy is at home. No, she doesn't have to give me two weeks notice. If you must know, she did something horrible at the beginning of our meeting. I had to leave."

"What happened?" Penny asked. "You said you didn't fight."

"Don't," Leonard hissed.

"She gave me another book. She wants me to study it. And that will never happen. It's the scariest thing I've ever seen on the printed page."

Penny raised her eyebrows and smiled. "What was it? The  _Kama Sutra_?"

"Why? Why did you ask that?" Leonard muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Penny -"

"See, it's all good." Penny slapped Leonard's arm. "Remember, it's that thing we're never supposed to talk about."

"- we already own the  _Kama Sutra_."

"Acckk!" Penny screamed.

"I told you not to ask!" Leonard put his head down into his hands.

"I don't know why that's surprising. We love textbooks, we collect them. Everything Amy and I do, we do it in a superior fashion. If there is a textbook, we will study it and then we methodically and systematically -"

"Shut up, Sheldon," Penny said.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was baffled why Penny would ask him a question and then not allow him to answer it fully. All he was doing was discussing the value of textbooks. Why did he come over here again?

"Okay, Sheldon, what book did Amy give you that scared you so much you had to leave?" Leonard asked.

Sheldon turned his face away from them and muttered, "The State of California Driver's Manual. She said I need to learn to drive now that Leonard doesn't live across the hall anymore."

Immediately, Penny and Leonard burst out laughing. Anger rose in Sheldon's chest. "Why is that funny?"

"Because - because -" Penny gasped for breath between her laughs "- that will never happen. I have to tell Amy."

"I drove you to the hospital once! We got there in one piece!"

"Yeah, but she was already broken," Leonard said, still laughing.

Sheldon stood and grabbed his bag. "This is the limit. I did not come over here to be mocked!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, sweetie." Penny put out a hand, as though she could physically stop him from her chair. "You're right, that was rude. I'll talk to Amy for you. She wasn't there the last time you tried to learn to drive. I'll explain it to her, that you just can't do it."

"But I can and I will."

"Why do you think you can do it now, Sheldon? It's okay, it's like a phobia or something. We live close enough I can give you a ride sometimes," Leonard said.

"Isn't it obvious? I can do it now because I have Amy!" It was only when the words were out of his mouth that he realized what he had said.  _How strange, Amy isn't even here and she's made everything clear to me._

"Wow." Penny raised her eyebrows. "He's serious. He's going to do it."

Sheldon nodded. "Yes, I am. If you'll excuse me, I have to go home and apologize to my wife. And we still have a book to discuss."

"Here, I'll drive you home." Leonard started to get up.

"No, thank you, Leonard. I've never taken this route until tonight. I need to see it in both directions. Because I won't need to take it again."

Then Sheldon went to the door and opened it. He turned back. "Thank you. Both of you."

He walked out the door.

* * *

Leonard and Penny stood at the window, watching their friend sitting on the bench at the bus stop on the corner.

"Aww, he looks so tiny from here, like a little Forrest Gump," Penny said.

"Except nobody wants to watch a three hour movie about Sheldon Cooper," Leonard said.

"Amy would."

"Yeah, you're right." Leonard paused for a minute. "It's weird, but I already kind of miss living across the hall from him."

"I know. I kind of miss both of them. So a book club?"

"Sorry I didn't tell you about it. I forgot."

"It's okay. I wasn't actually mad. I just can't believe I didn't know. I thought Amy told me and Bernadette everything."

"Well, not everything. There was the sex bombshell," Leonard replied. They both shuddered slightly.

"True. Do you think it's a secret? The book club?"

"No, or Sheldon wouldn't have told us. I'm pretty sure he knows Amy could kill him if she wanted." Leonard chuckled and Penny smiled. "I think it's just because we never overheard it. Talking about books seems like a pretty quiet activity."

"Ugh! I don't miss how loud they were. Remember when she would play her harp and he would play along on his bongos? Or that other weird synthesizer thingie?" Penny asked.

"Or that new thing, what was it? Martial Dance Night or something stupid? It made the entire fourth floor sound like a Cuban dance club."

"When they fought!"

"When they made up!" They both shuddered again.


	13. Making Up

**Making Up**

* * *

_Sheldon nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go home and apologize to my wife. And we still have a book to discuss."_

* * *

Amy glanced up at the time on the top of her screen. Based on when she received Penny's text, Sheldon should be home soon.

She sighed softly. Ever since he left, panic in his eyes, she had oscillated between frustration and regret. Frustration that her brilliant husband was worse than Peter Pan. Regret that she had handled it poorly. Maybe she shouldn't have sprung it on him. She certainly should have waited until after Book Club.

But not surprise. She was not surprised that he would become frightened and flee. Thus the regret, she should have planned this better. She was a little angry, too, not because he had left, but because he hadn't called or texted himself with his whereabouts. She had not been frightened, really, because he would be going to one of three places, she knew: Leonard's new house, Howard's apartment, or the comic book store.

Just then, she heard his keys in the lock. He entered quietly. She did not turn around. She was not going to indulge him. She waited for him to remove his bag and hang up his jacket, pretending to be engrossed in the random article on Wikipedia (skeleton at the 2010 Winter Olympics;  _please, Sheldon, don't look too closely_ ).

He came and stood by her desk. "I'm sorry, Amy."

"For what?" It came out like anger, but it was really shock. That was the fastest apology yet.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Uh . . . for leaving like that?" He phrased it as a question.

"Well, you should be. It was rude and immature." That was true. "I've been worried sick, wondering where you were." That was maybe an exaggeration.

"I know."

"And you ruined Book Club!" She really was angry about that. She loved Book Club.

"I know. We can talk about it now."

"Maybe the moment has passed." It hadn't. She would still talk about the book.

He actually looked crestfallen at that.

"Sheldon Cooper, I am not your mother. Leonard is not your father or -" her hand flitted "- whatever. I will not drive you to soccer practice for the rest of your life. You need to learn to drive. Also, I am not your handmaiden. I will not sit at home and wring my hands in agony and fear over what childish thing you have done this time." These were not the logical, irrefutable arguments she had prepared, and she knew it even as she said them.

There were three types of serious Cooper-Fowler disagreements. The first, the most common, was a terse but mostly temperate discussion that involved a lot of sighing and eye rolling and sometimes a chart until a mutually satisfying compromise was reached. The second, the rarest, was an alarming and regrettable affair with balled fists and shouts that resulted in two slammed bedroom doors and Amy crying and a night spent apart.

Then there was the third type, another type altogether, in which the words are welded as epees and the heat rose in the room until they exploded. This type of disagreement, Amy believed, was never about the thing they were supposedly disagreeing about. She thought that when this happened the conclusion was already known, one of them had already acquiesced, and the motions were observed to save pride. And, well, because . . .

She did not know yet exactly which type this one was.

"Well, you left me wringing my hands once. Over this exact desk, as I recall." He stabbed the corner of her desk for emphasis.

Amy felt the back of her neck get warm. Sheldon was bringing up an unrelated topic.  _Oh, it's on._ "Well, you had to get Leonard to drive you to find me, so I think my point is proven."

"But at least I came to find you. I've never turned the tracking off on my phone, you know. You could have found me tonight!"

"We had fought first then! We didn't fight tonight!" She stood up and crossed her arms.

"What do you think we're doing now?" He crossed his arms back at her.

"We're -" Amy stopped. Because she had no idea what to say next. So much for lengthy verbal sparring that would have Roget weeping for joy.  _Point, Sheldon Cooper._ Should she tell him her theory?

Then she saw it in his eyes. A spark. He knew. He knew he'd just won that match. He had also already surrendered in the war. She also knew exactly what he was going to do next.

Ever so slightly, his left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. It was a dare. She gritted her teeth. The eyebrow went higher.  _No, I will not._  The eyebrow reached its zenith. Her uterus quaked.

He growled. "Dr. Fowler."

She was on him at the speed of light, pushing him back into the bookcase, grabbing the sides of his face, branding him with her mouth. They only came up for air.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far away."

"Agreed."

Later, Amy didn't remember who said what. She never did.

Stumbling, pushing, pulling, clawing, they made their way toward the sofa. One minute his tee shirts were on, the next they were flung against the closet door. Their shoes were kicked way. There was no time to unbutton Amy's cardigan, it came over her head, too. Between kisses. He scratched her back, on purpose, as he unhooked her bra. She nimbly bit his chest while she unbuckled his pants.

"Ouch!"

"Too much?"

"Not really."

His hands were on her breasts, teasing them into a frenzy. Her hand was down his pants, teasing him into a frenzy.

"Why do you insist on wearing tights?"

"Why do you insist on wearing clothes?"

They separated just long enough to rid themselves of the offending garments. Then they were together again, skin against skin.

"The sofa?"

"The cushions!"

"The blanket?"

"The rug?"

"The blanket."

They were on the floor, protecting the rug with the blanket, his hands were in her hair, and her mouth was on his neck. His hands were between her thighs, and her voice cried out.

"You feel so good."

"You feel better."

She was on him, and he was inside her. She used her hips, he used his. Her head was in the crook of his neck, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, and his breath came in a moan.

Amy rolled off of him, hair tangled, short on oxygen. "That was hot."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it in agreement. Because Sheldon would never say anything as vulgar as that.

Her heart rate slowing, she put her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, weaving their fingers together over his heart. "Amy, do you ever think maybe we shouldn't do this anymore?"

"Angry sex? Make-up sex? Living room rug sex?"

"Exactly. It's sex, but I'm not certain it's making love."

She gently kissed the red mark she had made on his chest. "I disagree. It's different. But it's still us. And this part is definitely making love."

"But it's so illogical."

"I think it's highly logical. It's the exception that proves the rule."

"That phrase has never been logical and never will be. Vulcans would never say that. Vulcans would never have sex this way."

Amy smiled. "I'm pretty sure this is exactly how Vulcans have sex."

"Amy!"

Her smile broke into a chuckle. "Have you seen  _Star Trek_? It's sex or fighting to the death. Obviously, the Vulcans have some serious repression issues. Plus, we know that the cortical levels rise and fall sporadically, as the brain's regulatory system appears to shut down when serotonin levels become unbalanced. Endorphins raise to dangerous levels. I think it's probably very, very hot."

Sheldon looked down at her. "When did you learn so much about Pon Farr?"

"First of all, I do pay attention when we watch  _Voyager_. Secondly, maybe I," she coughed slightly, "sort of read up on it."

"When?" He shifted slightly and reached over for the pillow from the sofa that had fallen on the floor close to them. He gave it to Amy, who put her head on the edge. She curled toward him and he curled toward her, his head on the opposite edge, their faces very close, his arm around her.

"Awhile ago. I'm a neurobiologist. It's a neurochemical imbalance. It intrigued me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Did you know that there are more episodes dealing with Pon Farr in  _Voyager_  than any other series? But  _Voyager_  also breaks its own rules, because it's less than seven years between the two times Tuvok goes into Pon Farr. Which isn't necessary, because  _Voyager_  also informs us that Vulcans can mate outside of Pon Farr." She frowned.

"What?"

"I will concede that it may start sedate. From what we've seen, we assume that Vulcan sex starts with the Vulcan form of kissing, a form of physical contact to aid in the performance of telepathy, which I take to mean sending affection and possibly erotic thoughts to the other person." She fell silent. She reached down for his hand on her side, and caressed his index finger and middle finger with her first two fingers.

"Like this," she said. Sheldon was looking at her very keenly, even as her hand fondled his. Her glasses were somewhere, and his being this close put him in sharp relief.

Then he lifted his hand and returned the actions of her fingers. "Go on."

He let go of her hand and reached up to play with a tendril of her hair. He looked . . . no, surely not. And was that . . . no, surely not.

"Well, there is a lot we don't know about it. Scientifically speaking, I mean. We know that a Vulcan has to mate within eight days or die. Both men and women experience Pon Farr, but it's never explained if they're on the same cycle. My theory is that when the two mates are telepathically linked as children that their Pon Farr cycles are aligned. The only two options other than sex are the Kal-if-fee and intense meditation, neither of which - whommff."

Sheldon had rolled over with her, and his lips were on her face. "Sheldon? What are you doing?"

"What does it seem like?" And he ground into her, to prove his point. "Go on."

"Right now? So soon?" Where was her charmingly groggy husband?

"It must be blood fever." He ran his hands down her sides and hips. "Either keep talking or I'll have to kiss you."

"Dr. Cooper!" She laughed, she couldn't help it. She did not know if it was just absurd or maybe kinky, but it was it was certainly delicious (she liked the idea of kinky, too). Her laugh was interrupted by his tongue, and she melted into it.

Then he was hers again, tenderly this time, and he whispered in her ear, "It's making love."

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	14. Flatland

_**Back to our Shamy . . .** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2016**

**Primary topic: _Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions_ by Edwin A. Abbott  
**

**Additional** **book(s) mentioned: _The Tale of the Dueling Neurosurgeons: The History of the Human Brain as Revealed by True Stories of Trauma, Madness, and Recovery_  by Sam Kean**

* * *

Amy sighed and drummed her fingers on the island. Again. She sighed - again - and looked at her watch. Again. Another sigh and she picked up her Kindle and tried to read the same paragraph she had been trying to read for the last hour. Again. She put it down with yet another sigh.

Where was he? Had he been gone too long? She wasn't sure. She wasn't normally the one left at home like this. Should she text him or call him? No, no distractions. Maybe he was still at the store. Maybe her list was too long. Maybe it wasn't precise enough. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe -

The doorknob turned. She shot across the room as though propelled by a canon. He had barely opened the door when she threw her arms around him. "Sheldon! You're home!"

Sheldon stood stiffly. "I just went to Trader Joe's. Not Tatooine."

Amy backed away from him. "You're right. I was just . . . hungry."

Sheldon raised an eyebrow at her but didn't answer. He shook his head slightly as he turned to put his keys in the bowl and then shut the door. He held up the bag. "I presume you'll find it all in order."

Amy smiled and took it from him. "Thank you, Sheldon. I'm sure it is."

They walked together toward the kitchen. "Amy, why are we making a pizza? You do know we get that delivered here."

"I know. I just thought it would be something different. And fun to cook together." She did not tell him the short drive seemed like the safest option for his first solo outing.

Sheldon helped her unpack the bag. "How do you propose we start?"

"One of us should roll out the dough while the other cooks the sausage. Maybe you should roll the dough because you do the baking."

"Bread dough and pizza dough are not the same thing."

"Then think of it as a geometry exercise." Amy turned toward the stove. "I already sat the pizza pan out for you."

"Very well." Then Sheldon starting opening and closing the kitchen cabinets.

"What are you doing?" Amy turned to ask.

"Do we have a rolling pin?" He bent down to look in a lower cabinet.

"I don't think so. Use a wine bottle."

Sheldon stood. "I thought all women were supposed to have rolling pins to beat their husbands over the head with."

Amy was tempted to tell him she had discovered more subtle and effective ways to influence his behavior just to see the look on his face. But she knew she needed to keep that secret as long as she could. Instead, she smiled at him. "Oh, you mean the frying pan? It was the first item in my hope chest."

He raised his eyebrows. But then he gave his catchy laugh. "Oh, I get it. Very funny."

Reaching for a wine bottle, he said, "I suppose this is the best use for this horrible stuff."

Chuckling, Amy turned back to the sausage. She heard Sheldon working behind her, but she allowed her thoughts to wonder a little.

His voice pulled her back. "Amy? Did you plan this meal on purpose?"

"What do you mean?" Had he realized why she sent him to store alone?

"Because it's Book Club Night and we read  _Flatland_? Is the pizza supposed to a member of  _Flatland_? It can't be the Sphere as it's obviously not a sphere. Although it is thicker than a micron, so it's not really two-dimensional, either."

She turned around to look at him. He wasn't looking at her, he was intently studying the pizza dough, bending down to, she assumed, determine if the thickness was uniform. It had not occurred to her. "No. Happy accident."

"Maybe it was your subconscious. You loved  _Flatland_  so much you just had to extend your joy by doing geometry when you cooked. Because  _Flatland_  is perfect."

Amy felt her stomach do a little dip. This was going to be difficult. "Why don't you tell me why you think it's perfect."

"I should think it's obvious." He walked over to his desk and came back with a ruler. "Everything is so orderly and precise."

"Go on." She turned back toward the stove.

"Sometimes when I rode the bus or am stuck waiting somewhere, I would just imagine I was in  _Flatland_. The rules are very clear. There are no secret codes of conduct. I like how regulated it is. I try to think through the things the Square tells us he does not have time to explain, like how the citizens propel and stop themselves, how they write, how they eat, what it means for them to stand and sit. I theorize on mathematical formulas that would explain it all. What next?"

"The green pepper needs chopped." Amy went to the sink to drain the sausage. "What did you think of the story?"

"I think the story is secondary, don't you?"

"Actually, yes. It didn't feel like a story at all." She wasn't sure if she succeeded in sounding nonchalant.

"Amy, are you saying you didn't like it? Because it didn't have a strong story?" He stopped with the knife in mid-air, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes.

She ignored the question. "Do you think it's a satire?"

"A satire?" Sheldon cocked his head.

"Yes. Of social hierarchy, Victorian customs, things like that." She joined him at the island, passing him the jar of sauce to open.

"Hmmm." The jar was opened and he passed it back. "I've never thought of it that way. Maybe." He shook his head and resuming chopping. "No, I don't think so. I think it is what it claims to be, an exploration of what life would be like if their were only two dimensions instead of three. Why, do you think it's a satire?"

Taking a deep breath, Amy said, "I sincerely hope that it is."

"What does that mean?"

"Because, Sheldon, doesn't it strike you as racist and elitist and especially misogynistic?"

"No. It's about math, the great equalizer. Why would you say that?"

Not meeting his gaze, Amy applied herself to topping the pizza. "Because, Sheldon, I think either it's a satire or it's vile. I hope it is meant to be a satire."

"Vile!"

She winced at the anger in that word. "Yes."

"What? What, how? Why?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" She did look at him them, seeing the fire in his eyes and meeting it with hard coolness.

"Yes, I want you to answer that. Why would I ask a question I don't want the answer to?" He crossed his arms.

"Well, quite frankly, there are too many instances to list. But, if nothing else, there is that horrible chapter whose sole purpose seems to be to explain why women are inferior. They are considered deadly. They aren't allowed to enter any structure except through a small, side door. Some States don't allow them to travel alone or even leave the house. They are prone to violence. They are required to walk in a such a fashion that it seems to me they are always putting their sexuality on display just for the enjoyment of men. They are required to constantly be singing some sort of Peace-cry, but then the narrator complains about how they are always talking. They are not allowed to hold jobs. They are inferior in every respect to every other shape in Flatland. And they have no room for improvement, although the Square doesn't see that as problem both because all the men want to keep them down and also because he doesn't think they are intelligent enough raise their station in life."

Amy had tried very hard to keep her voice calm and even. She did want to rile Sheldon up further. But this book had made her confused and angry, and she noticed that her own sentences were becoming louder and sharper.

Sheldon stared at her, and she thought she saw his nostrils flare slightly.  _This is worse than I thought. This is bad._

"I don't care for what you are implying," he said.

"What am I implying? I'm not implying anything." Because she really wasn't; she thought she had said everything she meant to say, exactly as she meant to say it.

"You're implying that because I like this book that I must be a misogynist, too."

"Sheldon Cooper, that is not true. How dare you put words into my mouth! You are a lot of things, but you are not a misogynist. I would not have spent a single second with you if I thought that, and you know it!" Now she wasn't just upset, she was hurt. She knew he was lashing out, that he didn't truly mean it, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less.

"How do I know what you mean? Maybe your last sentence was satire. Or maybe I spoke the vile truth!"

Sheldon stormed out of the kitchen, and Amy soon heard the sound of his old bedroom door slamming shut. She let him go. It wasn't the first time and she doubted it would the last. She shook her head and put the pizza in the oven. Maybe he would cool off enough to eat it with her. Or maybe not.

She just needed to calm down herself and resist the painful urge to cry. She didn't understand how or why that had become so heated so quickly. She reached for her Kindle and woke it, hoping that reading would soothe her. She read a few sentences, her brain going from confusion to understanding to gratification. This wasn't her Kindle, it was Sheldon's; she wasn't used to him having one yet. And he was reading a book in secret, a book he never mentioned to her. Very possibly a book for her. She reached up to gently touch the screen.

Amy walked to the hallway and stood in front of the closed bedroom door. She paused a minute before softly knocking. "Sheldon?"

"What?" he said sharply from the other side.

"May I come in?" she asked timidly. In all the times Sheldon had retreated to his private space, she had never once asked to intrude.

She heard a loud, deep sigh with a throaty rumble in it. The angry sigh. "If you must."

Must she? She thought about turning away then, giving him his solitude, but then she looked down at the Kindle she was still holding. She turned the knob and slowly opened the door.

Sheldon was sitting on his bed, flipping through a comic book but not reading it. She could tell by how quickly and harshly he was turning the pages. He didn't look up at her. She stood in the doorway.

"Sheldon, I'm sorry. It's just that I picked up your Kindle by mistake and when I turned it on I saw that you're reading -"

"I suppose that I'm not even reading the right books now. Because if I read the right books then I'd clearly understand all of literature correctly. Theme and context and foreshadowing and all that other malarkey. And satire, let's not forget satire."

"No, Sheldon, no." Amy crossed the room. She paused by the edge of the bed for a moment before kicking her shoes off and climbing on top, but at the opposite end of the bed, facing him. "I meant . . . I was surprised. It's  _The Dueling Neurosurgeons_."

Flipptt. Another harsh turn of the page. "I thought of all books you would approve. Let me guess: the science is oversimplified and incorrect. I should be reading one your research papers. Or hanging on every perfect word that comes out your perfect mouth."

Amy closed her eyes to the sting.  _He doesn't mean it. He's angry._  She took a breath and said sharply, "Sheldon, look at me."

He looked up. "I'm not angry at all about the book you're reading. I'm . . ." She took another deep breath. "Was it for me?"

Sheldon swallowed but didn't answer.

"Thank you. That's very sweet."

He shrugged and put his head back down.

"I'm sorry that I ruined  _Flatland_  for you. I didn't mean to. I was being sincere; that's what I thought. Just me. But one of the great things about literature is that it is open to interpretation. There is no right or wrong opinion."

"I don't want it to be open to interpretation."

Amy nodded and scooted closer to him. She didn't really know to answer that. It was stubborn and childish and unrealistic, but she wouldn't point that out to him, not now. "Can we agree to disagree?"

"I don't like it when we disagree."

In spite of herself, Amy smiled a little bit. "There is nothing wrong with agreeing to peacefully disagree on a philosophical question. You know that."

He shrugged and put the comic book on the bed side table before looking at her. "I do." He looked down again, and then he put out a hand and touched the top her foot with his index finger. "I meant . . . I don't want to fight about it."

"I don't either. So lets not."

"I know you weren't talking about me. I know you don't think that about me."

"Good. Because I don't. And I know you're not."

He nodded, still not looking up at her, tracing some sort of shape on her foot. She felt the warmth of his fingertip through her tights. They let the silence fall.

Finally, he looked up at her. "Amy, do you think we fight too much?"

"I don't know. I don't know how much is too much. I also don't know what, exactly, is a true fight. There is everything from a salty exchange to a screaming match. We've only had a couple of those, where you sleep in here. I would think that's normal."

"Three. It's happened three times since we've been married. Three in almost one year. Is that too many? Are we bad at this?"

"I don't know. I don't have any experience in the marriage department to compare it to. But I don't feel we're bad at this. I'm far too happy to feel bad about it."

"I just . . . it's just that . . . my parents fought all the time."

Amy's heart squeezed. Sweet, scared Sheldon. She moved in even closer, and put her hand on his thigh. "Sheldon, listen to me. You are not your father. You are not going to become your father. Or your brother. You are my Sheldon, a man unique in the universe. And I love you for exactly who you are." She paused. "But, if you like, every time I think you may be stepping out of line, I can get out the frying pan."

Sheldon gave her a weak grin. She knew the storm had passed. "Amy?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to make an effort next year not to come in here."

"Really? You're not always angry when you come in here. Everyone needs peace and alone time."

Sheldon cocked his head for a minute. "Perhaps you're right. I shall amend my statement. I will not come in here in anger." His hand slid up her shin. "Will you help me?"

Amy smiled. "Of course. It may be hard, though, if I'm angry, too."

He smiled back. "We'll help each other."

"Agreed." She heard the timer on the oven buzz. "Come on, dinner is ready." She started to get off the bed.

Sheldon's hand caught hers. "Amy, wait." She turned to look at him. "I'm sorry about what I said before. Because it wasn't true. I do hang on your every word."

She smiled again. "I know."


	15. The Words

**The Words**

* * *

" _Amy, wait." She turned to look at Sheldon. "I'm sorry about what I said before. Because it wasn't true. I do hang off your every word."_

_She smiled again. "I know."_

* * *

They did not make love that night. Instead, they ate the pizza, deciding together that even though it was good it was easier to order it. They stayed up past their usual bedtime watching  _Masterpiece_  together ('Only  _because Amy loves it so much,_ not _because I was dying to know what happened next to Lady Edith_ ,' Sheldon thought). They drifted to bed and drifted off to sleep, after a gossip session in which they questioned whether or not Bernadette would kill Howard before the baby came.

Sheldon awoke in the dark, slightly confused, and glanced at the bedside clock. Four-thirty. He rubbed his eyes. Why was he awake so early? He almost always woke up a few minutes before the alarm went off, his brain and body conditioned for the mental stimulation of work. But two whole hours?

Was it guilt? Shame? He knew, lying the dark, that he had behaved childishly last night. He should not have gotten so angry over a book. They were just words, after all, words on a page. Amy was just expressing her opinion. Although she seemed to have forgiven him. Or wasn't even really mad at him to begin with, he wasn't sure. Amy.

He nuzzled in closer to Amy. He loved Amy in the mornings. He loved her tangled, fuller hair. He loved the way her eyelashes lay across her cheeks. He loved the sound of her barely there snores. He loved the warmth of her body. He loved the smell of her skin. He took a deep breath of her.  _Amy._

Before he considered it, he was making circles on her hip with his palm. She murmured into the darkness and rolled over in his arms toward him. "Wha -"

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear. He thought he should apologize for waking her early on a work day and tell her to go back to sleep, but he didn't want to speak. Last night, he had told her he hung on every word she said. It was true. But last night, there were too many words. This morning, there was only one word upon which he wanted to hang. And only one infliction in which he wanted it spoken.

He kissed her, softly at first and then deeper. Then he pulled away, and loosened his grip. He was giving her the choice again, even though she had already rolled into him instead of batting his hand away from her hip.

Amy kissed him and grasped his pajama shirt. Her answer. She started to unbutton his shirt, and they worked together to remove their nightwear.

They met again in the middle of the bed, naked and warm. They kissed passionately, their mouths speaking to each other without words. Then Sheldon took her by the shoulders, and tried to encourage her to roll. Would she understand? He did not want to say it, he did not want to talk.

After a few seconds, Amy rolled. She had understood. This pleased him greatly. He hugged her from behind kissing her neck and shoulders and shoulder blades, using his hands on her breasts and stomach. She leaned deeply back into him, breathing hard, pressing against his arousal, an achingly wonderful feeling.

She took one of his hands and guided it down. He loved that, that Amy had understood his need for a version of silence. Appreciative for his height, he was able to pleasure her like this. He smiled deeply into her ear when she cried out. Kissing her ear, he gave her a moment to recover.

Ages ago, when it occurred to Sheldon that coitus could be more than just one act, that it could, in fact, include a lot of separate little acts including touching a woman like that, he had been horrified. This had seemed worse, somehow, then just the bathing suit areas meshing together. His hands, there, of all places, for goodness sake! Of course, at the time, coitus was not in his future so he put the disgusting thought away because it clearly would not be in his future, either. But then, and this always happened with Amy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Why wouldn't he want to touch her there? He wanted to touch her everywhere.

Sometimes he was jealous of Amy. She had all these secrets, hidden way from him, awaiting discovery. He always felt so obvious when Amy touched him. No secrets there. True, a couple of times she had stumbled upon something that had never crossed his mind that would be especially enjoyable, like that thing she did to his nipples. But, Amy,  _wonderful Amy_ , was a Pandora's box of delights, never fully opened. There was one delight he wanted to find again this morning.

Guiding with his hand, he rubbed the tip of himself against her bottom. Would she understand? She curled her legs up for him. She understood. Gently, he found his way into her, still holding her. He gave a couple of slow thrusts, allowing her adjust. She adjusted the angle of her legs once, and then again. The second adjustment was obviously the correct one, because she responded to his next thrust with a deep moan. He held her even tighter, and started moving faster. He remembered that is how she liked it this way, and he took great pleasure in her rattling moans.

Until she said the word he was longing to hear, just the way he yearned for it. It came out high and fast and full of exquisite joy. "Sheldon!"

Notwithstanding his previous wish for only one word, a moment later he said a word he had not expected to say. It came out long and low and full of sublime commitment. "Amy!"

He buried his face in her hair and took another deep breath. After their breaths slowed, Amy rolled over again and buried her face in his chest. They fell asleep that way, hanging off of each other.

* * *

_**Oh, my blushes!** _


	16. Year One

 

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year One**

* * *

Sheldon did not know that societal norms dictated the exchange of gifts for one's wedding anniversary until Penny had informed him a couple of days after Christmas. How odd. Wasn't the pleasure of spending the rest of one's life beside the only other perfect person on the planet gift enough? But he had just spent a month watching Amy slavishly following every Christmas ritual, and cajoling him to participate in most of them, so he knew this would be expected of him. There was not a single romantic superstition in the whole world in which Amy did not want to participate.

The month of January was spent in indecision. What should he get her? Penny had also told him the gift should be romantic, not practical. It should, in some fashion, be tied to their love or shared history or some such nonsense. He became so desperate he even asked for ideas from his friends, who proved to be as useless as he anticipated they would be. Then, one day, he opened a secret untitled document on his computer that he had been using to vent his . . . thoughts for almost a year now, and it occurred to him that all that overly emotional, illogical claptrap was perfect for Amy. It was just the sort of thing she would love. She would lap it up eagerly and probably cry. The more sappy and the more ridiculous, the better. He had discovered the golden ticket.

But now there was a different problem. And it was entirely of his own making. If he had been calm, cool, and collected that fateful day none of this would have happened out of order. This is exactly what happened when one doesn't make the proper plans, when one allowed their heart to run away from their mind.

Valentine's Day. How he hated that holiday! Oh, how he loved it! She was his, she was his, at last, she was his. His very soul had cried out for her, and her soul had become his. Things were whispered in the dark, between the brushings of skin, and he felt that he had found a missing part of himself deep within her. That night, unexpectedly, they pledged themselves to each other in a union stronger than anything he had ever known. They were soul mates, in every meaning of the words. Legal marriage, that was a mere semantic, a practical necessity for their mothers, for the insurance companies, for the bank, for society. Everything that needed to be said, everything that needed to be promised, everything that needed to be done, it happened that night.

Except . . . standing in the bland room, a stranger asking them questions, feeling Amy's hand tremble as she tried to slid the ring on his finger (another romantic superstition!), seeing the look in her eyes when she said "I do" . . . something else changed. This wasn't just a semantic, a practical necessity for their mothers. This wasn't just signing a form for the State of California, this wasn't just a thing all their friends seemed to be doing. His heart pounded in his chest and he knew this was just as great as the words whispered in the dark between the brushings of skin, this band of metal on his finger (oh, how he loved it!) was his way of crying out to the world "I am my soul mate's, and she is mine!"

Not that he would tell her any of that, of course. How absurd, he wasn't a hippy. But still the question lingered: the 14th or the 20th?

It was Amy, of course, who solved this dilemma, just as she always did. She was reading in bed, her eyes hungrily shifting back and forth across the page. When he got in beside her, she hadn't even turned to look at him.

Sheldon brushed her hair away from her shoulder and rested his cheek there. "What are you reading that is so engrossing?"

There was a pause before she answered. " _Love Letters of Great Men_."

"Is it that good?" he asked, smirking internally.  _Oh, yes, my gift is perfect._

"Napoleon may have been a megalomaniac, but he certainly knew how to write," she replied. She put her Kindle down. "Do you ever wonder that if some of the most famous people had written novels instead of whatever they did, what those books would be like? What if Winston Churchill wrote a whole novel as good as his wartime speeches, for example?"

"I never thought about it. Do you not find our Book Club selections compelling enough?"

She turned to him. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I love Book Club. Just a thought exercise, I guess. There's plenty of love in our Book Club." She took off her glasses and pulled away from him to set them on the bedside table with her Kindle. "Sheldon, I've been thinking about Valentine's Day."

"Yes?" he perked up.

"Well, it's so close to our anniversary, it seems silly to go out and celebrate two nights in one week. How about we just stay in for Valentine's Day, since our anniversary is arguably more important? We won't make a big deal of it."

"We could have spaghetti with hot dogs and Strawberry Qwik again," he volunteered. "Yes, let's do that. It sounds like fun."

"Fun? You hate Valentine's Day."

"Mmmm," he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "you've changed my mind . . ." Her earlobe felt like velvet and he brushed her skin . . .

Valentine's Day came, and Sheldon was awake earlier than usual. Now that the day was here, it felt wrong not to acknowledge it somehow. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amy, and went to the living room. Her Kindle was on the island, and he flipped it open to read a paragraph.  _Good, I'm not the first brilliant mind to dissolve into emotional claptrap. It's a good thing we only read fiction for Book Club or Amy would -_

He sat up straighter before getting up and going to his desk. He wrote them quickly, and then placed them all over the apartment. One Post-It on her toothbrush, one on her favorite mug, one on her hair brush, one on her glasses . . .

"I love you more than Lady Trent loved Jacob."  
"I love you more than The Doctor loves River."  
"I love you more than Mr. Rochester loved Jane."  
"I love you more than Marco loved Celia."  
"I love you more than Sherlock loved a mystery."  
"I love you more than A.J. loved Amelia."  
"I love you more than Lord Maccon loved Alexia."  
"I love you more than I love  _Flatland_."

But she found the last one much later, after she had brushed his skin with so much love and they were late to work.

That night, after dinner and the movie, between the brushings of skin, he whispered once more, "I love you and you are so beautiful and you are more important than anything I have ever discovered and I feel like my heart is the Tardis it's bigger on the inside . . ."

* * *

Six days later, she surprised him in his office, holding a package and giddy with suppressed excitement.

"Amy? What's this?" he asked, coming around from behind his desk.

"It's your anniversary present."

"But we're celebrating tonight. I'm wearing a suit and everything. And I don't have your gift here."

"I know. There's a reason. Hurry, open it, you're wasting time." She thrust the package out at him.

He took it and opened it, Amy watching him closely. He noticed she kept glancing at her watch. "Wait, slow down," she suddenly said.

"But you told me to hurry up!"

"Don't slow down that much. Keeping opening."

Sheldon rolled his eyes and returned to opening the package. "A watch! Thank you, Amy, it's very nice -"

"Hurry, hurry, hurry, take it out!"

He lifted the watch out of the box and -

"Wait, hold still!" Amy's eyes were glued to her own watch, her other palm lifted in the universal stop signal. "Okay, when I say go, turn it over."

"Turn it over?"

"Go! Now! Now!"

Startled, Sheldon flipped the watch over. It was engraved: 31557600. He looked up at her, meeting her grin with his own. "The number of seconds in a year. And right on time, I presume?"

She hugged him right there, in his office, and, although he was mortified that someone would walk by and see, he hugged her back with equal ardor.

Later, after a fancy dinner, sitting on the sofa, he had presented his scroll to her. At first her brow wrinkled in confusion, but, just as he expected, she lapped it like a kitten laps up cream and she was crying by the end, happy tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Sheldon," she whispered, and he pulled her for another hug.

By then it was 31,579,837 seconds. The best 31,579,837 seconds of his life.

* * *

**_If you haven't already read Sheldon's gift to Amy, it's my story entitled_ Ramblings of a Neurodegenerative Mind: An Anniversary Present.**

 


	17. Northanger Abbey

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2016**

**Primary Topic: _Northanger Abbey_  by Val McDermid  
**

**Additional** **books mentioned: _Northanger Abbey_  by Jane Austen,  _Twilight_  by Stephenie Meyer _  
_**

* * *

Dinner was over and the kitchen was clean when Sheldon reached for the kettle. "The usual, my dear?"

"My dear?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

He blushed a little and shrugged.  _Where did that come from?_

Amy smiled briefly but said, "No, maybe no tea tonight."

"Why not? It's Book Club Night." Sheldon sat the kettle down, without filling it. He had had an odd feeling, all evening, that something was off about Amy. It was probably the cause of his little verbal slip.

"Because -" Just then, interrupting her, there was a knock at the door.

He immediately registered that Amy was not surprised. Whoever this unexpected guest was, it was clearly unexpected only to him. The odd feeling turned to dread. He shot her a little glare, so she would know he knew of her trickery, and said, "I'll get it."

He walked across the room and opened the door. "Howard and Bernadette. Good evening."

Howard lifted up the heavy package he was carrying, as though he was implying that Sheldon did not see it right away. "Ah, and the baby," Sheldon added.

Bernadette pushed her way inside, forcing Sheldon to step back and hold the door open wider. He looked over at Amy, she merely gave him a guilty yet satisfied smile and shrug before meeting Bernadette in the kitchen.

"Hey, thanks for offering to babysit. Bernie and I really need a night out." Howard heaved the carrier onto the sofa.

"Amy offered," Sheldon replied.  _Because I was never asked or informed,_  he did not add. Despite himself, he found himself fascinated by the odd-shaped contraption on the sofa. There seemed to be some sort of fitted sheet with a hole in it stretched over the car seat. "Why is he in this thing that makes him look like Captain Pike in  _The Menagerie_?"

"It's his car seat, Sheldon. And the cover is there to keep him warm," Howard answered.

"I know it's a car seat. But why does he need to be kept that warm? The average low in Pasadena in March is 46 degrees Fahrenheit. And it's probably much warmer in your climate controlled car."

"Sheldon, it's rude to question your friends' parenting decisions," Amy called. He had not realized she was listening, as he could clearly hear her conversation with Bernadette about bottles just a second before.

He looked back at Howard. "I'm sorry. That was rude. Amy has explained to me that those are the type of conversations we save to have after you leave."

"Sheldon!" Amy barked.

"Uh . . . yeah." Howard shook his head, and removed the cover from the carrier. Jacob Wolowitz's entire sleeping form was now visible. "Do you want to hold him? You still haven't, you know."

"No, thank you." Then he turned to give Amy a look that very clearly said, ' _See, I said thank you.'_

Bernadette stomped over to him and poked Sheldon in the chest. "Listen here, mister. If you so much as harm a hair on his head I will break both of your femurs!"

Instinctively, Sheldon backed away a step. He wanted to point out that Jacob didn't have any hair yet, but his fear for the largest bones in his body won out.

"It's okay, Bernadette, I've got it. You two just go and enjoy your meal," Amy said.

The petite blonde narrowed her eyes even further at Sheldon. "I mean it."

Sheldon just held up his hands in surrender.

Bernadette and Howard went to the door, Bernadette giving last minute reminders about calling anytime, about anything. As they were walking out, Howard leaned back in and said to Sheldon, "You know, on second thought, maybe you shouldn't hold the baby."

As the door shut, Sheldon turned to Amy. "How long have you known about this?"

"Just this morning. Bernadette called me crying. She's very overwhelmed. I offered to help." She crossed her arms at him, ready to defend her position.

"But it's supposed to be Book Club Night."

"It still is. Look, he's sleeping. He's quiet. You don't have to touch him."

Her logic was sound. Jacob had slept through the two Friday nights gatherings for which he was present; all the extra noise had come from Penny and Amy and Raj, passing him back and forth and cooing over him as though he was the first baby in existence. Sheldon knew he certainly would not be cooing tonight, so maybe Amy wouldn't either. And, as always, he was astounded at how insightful Amy was, that she would know to offer impromptu babysitting to help her friend, that she understood social cues better than him. He thought he should probably try to emulate her in that regard. Not to mention that now that the infant was here, they couldn't ignore him or toss him out. He sighed. "Fine."

He moved to his spot. Amy surprised him by sitting in the large white chair, not next to him. "Why are you sitting there?"

"I don't want to shake the couch too much. One should never wake a sleeping baby."

Sheldon turned to look at he opposite end of the sofa.  _Babies are so strange_. He turned back again. " _Northanger Abbey_?"

"Yes," Amy replied.

"Before we discuss the book itself, I am curious as to why you chose it."

"I should think it's obvious. It's Jane Austen."

"But it's not Jane Austen, not this one. You picked the modern retelling by Val McDermid."

Amy curled up in the chair. "I love Jane Austen. But unfortunately she only left six completed novels when she died. If I want to read new Austen I either have to read sequels or retellings written by other people."

"Have you read a lot of those? I thought you might consider it sacrilegious."

"Do you consider fanfiction sacrilegious?"

Sheldon paused. He did love a good  _Star Trek_  fanfic with a strong scientific plot, preferably taking place on Vulcan so that the emotions were kept to a minimum. Unfortunately, those were rare. "No. I consider it an homage."

"I feel the same about new Austen-based books. Of course, some are much better than others, just like fanfiction. This series, The Jane Austen Project, has been exceptionally well done."

Just then, there was the sound of something between a grunt and a sob at the other end of the sofa. Amy got up and bent over the baby's carrier. "Looks like somebody is awake. Are you confused at where you are? You're spending the evening with Aunt Amy and Uncle Sheldon! We're going to have a great time!"

Although her sing-song intonation was vaguely . . . what? . . . to him, Sheldon had to admit she was right to inflect that an evening spent with them would be the most exciting thing that had yet happened to Jacob. He noticed that as Amy sat down again, holding the baby, that she sniffed him and stroked his cheek. He had noticed she did this every time she picked him up . . . But at least Jacob was calmer now.

"So," Sheldon brought Amy's face back to him, "modern  _Northanger Abbey_. Thoughts?"

"I liked it. I thought it was clever to move the action to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Modern Bath wouldn't work here. The plot needs the social mêlée of a festival-like atmosphere to work properly. And the use of Facebook and other forms of social media plays well, also."

"I liked it, too, although I think less than you. I don't normally read books and watch movies about teenagers."

"Really? I think Iron Man is the biggest teenager of all time. Or maybe that guy from  _Guardians of the Galaxy_ ," Amy smirked. Sheldon gave her a dirty look. She continued, "Almost all of Jane Austen's heroines are young, either teenagers or in their early twenties. It was normal for the time. Especially with  _Northanger Abbey_ , it's essential that Catherine is young and immature. She has to be caught up in fantasies both of her own creation and from novels. For example, I thought it was very clever that she was obsessed with  _Twilight_."

"Did you ever read  _Twilight_? Penny tried to get me to read it. Leonard read it and cried. I refuse to read anything that makes a grown man cry. It's a good thing I read  _Harry Potter_  before him."

"I tried, but it was horrible. You were wise to refuse."

Before Sheldon could comment on his own self-evident wisdom, their calm discussion was interrupted by an angry wail from Jacob. Amy looked down at him, and starting patting his bottom. "Oh, what is the matter? Is it as bad as that? Are you hungry? Mommy said you would be."

Sheldon resisted the urge to roll his eyes and point out that he knew a baby would ruin Book Club Night.

"Sheldon, will you do me a favor? Would you make his bottle for him? Bernadette left written instructions and the milk is the refrigerator."

"But you said you would take care of him, and I wouldn't have to touch him!"

Amy looked at him with a face he knew well. And then she said in a tone he also knew well, "I believe Jacob is both hungry and needs a diaper change. You have the choice of either making the bottle or changing his diaper. Those are your options."

Without rebuttal, Sheldon got up and went to the kitchen to follow Bernadette's instructions.  _I will not think about where this milk came from. I will not think about what Amy is doing. I will not think about where this milk came from. I will not think about what Amy is doing._

By the time the bottle was ready, Amy was back in the chair shushing the baby. She gave Sheldon a smile as she took the bottle. He stood for a second, watching as Jacob greedily started drinking.  _Fascinating._

"It's okay, Sheldon, we can keep discussing the book. He's happy again."

After sitting, Sheldon watched her feed the baby for a moment. She looked so . . . He spoke, "What did you think of Henry Tilney's hypothesis that dancing and marriage are both contracts?"

"Well, I agree with him that both should involve fidelity and mutual consideration. But Cat's point back to him that marriage is forever and dancing is for a few minutes is more valid than his argument."

"But you started our relationship by dancing with me."

Amy's eyes sparkled as she looked over at him. "Oh, it was a relationship then, was it? And I certainly don't recall forcing you to dance. Besides, if by relationship you mean flirting, you started our relationship before that, when you flirted with me."

"When?" His eyebrows shot up.

"I seem to remember the word vixen being involved."

Sheldon opened his mouth and shut it again. Ironically, the only appropriate response to that comment was to point out, once again, that she was a vixen. Amy smirked back at him.

A few seconds passed in which Jacob finished his bottle with great sucking sounds, and Amy put him up her shoulder, patting his back.

"What about Henry's comment that 'the habit of loving is definitely one to be cultivated'?" Sheldon asked.

"I'm in complete agreement with him on that. Loving is an action, not a passive state of being," Amy replied. She looked slightly over his shoulder, which he knew meant she was remembering something. "It reminds me of one of my favorite books; one of the lessons in it is that it is the time one spends working for and taking care of what one loves that is what makes that love unique and special."

"What book is that?"

Amy smiled. "Spoilers! I just might pick for my next selection."

The baby started making new fussy noises and Amy looked down. "What's wrong now, little one?"

"So, Amy, you said you've only read sequels and modern retellings of Jane Austen, correct?"

She looked back at him. "Yes, why?"

"I just decided what book I will pick next month. I am certain there is a Jane Austen you have not read."

"What?"

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "Spoilers!"

Amy smiled broadly at that and seemed about to say something else when Jacob made some sort of new noise, and Amy pulled him away from her a little. "Oh, dear. Maybe that was the problem. Do you feel better now?"

Sheldon noticed the white liquid running down Amy's shirt. He looked away quickly with repulsion, but Amy's voice pulled him back. "Here, Sheldon, take him so I can go change. I should have put a rag on my shoulder."

"What? Why do I have to take him? He just vomited!"

Amy was standing now. "Sheldon, take him. It's running down my back and if I sit back down it will be on the chair."

_Well, at the least her shirt can be laundered._  Sheldon held out his arms and took the squirming form. He didn't bring him in any closer.

"Support his head! He's only a month old, he hasn't gained the motor control to hold it upright very long."

"What if he vomits on me?"

"Sheldon Cooper!"

He pulled the baby in close but then thought he was doing it wrong. "What if he can't breathe with his face against me?"

"Put him up on your shoulder. I thought you told me you held your nephew when he was born."

"I did. But not like this. He was lying down. And he wasn't this big," Sheldon moved the bundle up to his shoulder, careful to keep his hand behind Jacob's head.

"See, you've got it." Amy turned and walked out of the room.

Amy had no sooner left than the crying started. Sheldon tried patting Jacob's back, like Amy had done. It didn't help. He made shushing sounds, which didn't help either. He decided to try turning Jacob, holding him like he had his nephew. With great care, he managed to accomplish that move. It quieted the baby a little, but he was still whimpering.

Sheldon looked down into the blank eyes full of water. "Please stop crying. I don't know what else to do."

Surprisingly, Jacob stopped crying.  _I did it! I spoke rationally to him and it worked!_ But then the whimpering started again.

"Please, please, don't. I am afraid of your mother. Someday you will learn to be afraid of her, too." He was grateful that no one was around to hear him both beg and confess his illogical fears to an infant, of all things.

Jacob stopped crying again. For a few seconds, there was quiet. But then his face twisted up again.

"Okay, it seems I need to talk to you." Ah, it worked! His face relaxed! "I don't know what to say to you as the only thing we have in common right now is that we are both males and we are in the same room." Sheldon paused briefly, racking his brain. "I don't think we've been formally introduced, and that seems the logical starting point when meeting new people. I am Dr. Sheldon Lee Cooper. I know you have been told to call me Uncle Sheldon, but I would prefer Uncle Dr. Cooper. I am a theoretical physicist, and I am going to win the Nobel Prize. Someday I will explain it to you because your parents cannot. Stick with me, kid, and I'll show you a far superior field of study than biology or engineering."

As he was speaking, Sheldon was surprised at how intently he was being watched. Maybe Jacob's eyes weren't so blank after all. "I should correct myself. Neurobiology at the level of your Aunt Amy's research is an acceptable field of study. Your Aunt Amy is a genius. So am I, but you probably won't need to be told that. Aunt Amy is a lot things. She is intelligent, caring, logical and wise. She can be quite funny. She is also very beautiful. No doubt, in your adolescence, your father will try to explain women to you. Don't listen to anything he tells you. You just need to find your own Amy. She is the total package, as the expression goes."

He found himself smiling down at Jacob, the baby's tiny hand wrapped around his finger, although he had no memory of putting his hand there. Bewildered, he quickly wiped the smile off his face. Then he jumped when he heard Amy cough from the hallway. Why was Amy coughing? Was she getting ill? Walking toward him, she gave the smile and look she gave when he had pleased her. But how had he pleased her?

"Look, he's almost asleep," she said.

Sheldon looked down. Indeed, Jacob's eyelids were hovering near closure.  _Oh, I pleased Amy by putting him back to sleep._

"Do you want me to take him?" Amy asked.

"No, I'll hold him. You said never to wake a sleeping baby," Sheldon replied.  _And Bernadette will kill us if you give him a cough._


	18. Knowing

**Knowing**

* * *

_Walking toward him, she gave the smile and look she gave when he had pleased her. But how had he pleased her?_

_"Look, he's almost asleep," she said._

_Sheldon looked down. Indeed, Jacob's eyelids were hovering near closure. Oh, I pleased Amy by putting him back to sleep._

_"Do you want me to take him?" Amy asked._

_"No, I'll hold him. You said never to wake a sleeping baby," Sheldon replied._

* * *

Amy had heard it before, although not often, this slight but sharp recurring beat deep inside her. She always ignored it. Most recently, she had heard it more frequently with every coo she uttered. She continued to ignore it.

But that night, after the initial joy from the words she had overheard Sheldon say subsided, it was strong. It lingered, no matter how hard she tried not to look over him holding Howard and Bernadette's infant son while they watched television.  _Tick tick._  He would grunt in his sleep, and Sheldon would look down at him, alarmed.  _Tick._  Sheldon said his arm was tired and she took Jacob back from him, the heaviness warm in her arms. _Tick._  She sat down and involuntarily bent slightly to take in his soft, powdery aroma.  _Tick._  She ran her hand across the downy almost-hairs of his head.  _Tick._  She let him take her finger firmly in his grasp, his tiny fingernails the definition of perfection. Tick. Every few minutes, she unwittingly stroked his cloudy soft cheek with her finger.  _Tick tick tick tick tick._

She heard a knock on the door, and their friends were back. There was a flurry of activity and thank yous and good-byes until they were gone. _Tiiiicccccck._

"Amy?"

"Hmmm?" She turned away from the door.

"I asked if you wanted to watch something else." Sheldon frowned. Her lack of focus annoyed him, she knew.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, let's watch something."

"Proposals?"

"Whatever you want."

He cocked his head slightly before releasing it in an almost shrug. "Very well."

And then they were in their spots, watching _Castle_  on the DVR. Amy took his hand, and he clasped hers back, as they sometimes did. After a bit, she let go of his hand and curled up instead, laying her head in his lap. She felt his body almost imperceptibly tense for a millisecond and his head dip as he looked down at her because this was not something they did. She wondered if he would ask, she could feel his query hovering in the air; but it passed and he turned his face back toward the screen, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Her shoulders relaxed from a tension she did not know they had. She did not want to discuss it, not even with Sheldon. Sheldon, dear Sheldon!, never had a man been so loved. But never had a man asked more questions. The entire world was intriguing to him, so many things to discover and learn about and know. Normally, almost always, she savored his questions, questions she knew he would only ask her. But saying she did not want to talk about it would not be an acceptable answer, it would only frustrate him and elicit more questions. He hated it when she said that.

She did not want to discuss it because she could not explain it. It wasn't that it was irrational; it was a widely accepted belief, the psychological phenomena caused by a proven physical mechanism. But conventional wisdom wasn't easy to explain. It wasn't about the hard and fast rules of physics, it was about metaphysics.

When their show ended, Sheldon turned off the television and announced it was bed time. So it was.

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute. There's something I want to do first," Amy said. She went to her computer, and Sheldon went to the bathroom although she thought maybe there was subtle pause before he walked away. No, she must have imagined it.

She waited, aimlessly checking Facebook and Intstagram, until she heard him leave the bathroom and go to the bedroom. Only then did she go brush her teeth and her hair, taking longer with those nightly tasks than necessary.

Sheldon, of course, was waiting for her. He was lying in bed, but his arms were folded behind his head in an entirely unusual pose for him. It was almost enough to make her smile, but she was not in the mood to smile. She suspected he had counted each extra second she had spent coming to the bedroom and puzzling over them, and he was trying to look casual.

Amy also noticed he was wearing pajamas, and this eased her. She was not in the mood for that, either, so she put on her flannel night gown and crawled into bed.

"Good night, Sheldon," she said and rolled on her side, facing away from him, trying not to the think about the look she had seen on his face in the split second she started to roll away from him.

"Good night, Amy," he replied and he turned off his bedside lamp, throwing the room into darkness.

They lay still for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, although Amy was trying her best to push her thoughts away from her and replace them with something else. Eventually, Sheldon rolled toward her and wrapped his arms around her, although she couldn't deny he waited longer than normal and his arm felt hesitant.

"Amy?" He whispered in her ear.

"Yes?" She almost sighed, thinking she was going to have to talk about it after all. But she didn't sigh; there was something there, something soft in his voice, that stopped her.

"Roll over. I want to tell you something," he said gingerly.

She did. He brought one hand up and caressed her cheek with the back of it, before resting his palm in her hair. Even though the dark made his blue eyes look black, she could see the intensity in them.

"I love you." He brought his other hand up and griped both sides her face, with gentle force. Not painfully, but with enough pressure to make her notice. He put his forehead against hers, not just touching but pushing a tiny bit. "I. Love. You. I l _ove_  you. I love y _ou_. You. You."

She knew, then, that he has heard it, the faint tapping in her soul. He was telling her so. She did not know, though, what else he was trying to tell her. She did not know if he was trying to sooth it away or if he was promising it would come some day. She did not know if he even knew. Whatever it was, he did not know the words, so he told her the words he did know.

She did know that he meant it, that his love was a force he could not express, just as she knew he meant whatever this other thing was he could not express. She did know that her entire life was spent waiting for those moments, lying with him in the dark, and even now her days were filler between them. She did know that she loved him with such devotion it swam around her and through her, and the sound of it rushing in her ears had the power to drown out all other sounds. Sheldon was, is, will be more than enough.

As she nodded, he released her and caressed her cheek one more time. She buried her face the crook of his neck, and fell asleep there, hearing only the sound of his breathing.

* * *

**_Thank you for your reviews._ **


	19. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

**_Thank you to AnotherBritFan who suggested both the book being discussed this month and also the location._ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2016**

**Primary topic: _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ by Seth Grahame-Smithe  
**

**Additional** **book(s) mentioned: _Pride and_ _Prejudice_  by Jane Austen,  _Clothing: An Introductory College Course_  ** **by Alpha Latzke and Beth Quinlan (1935 edition)**

* * *

"Remind me again why we're doing this," Sheldon said, walking on the sidewalk next to Amy.

"Because Raj and Stuart asked us to join them for dinner, and this night worked best for them. Stuart had coverage for the store," Amy answered.

"So, not only do we have to have guests for Book Club Night, we also have to have guests for Date Night. Both of which are supposed to be our alone time."

"We can have Book Club when we get home. When we're alone. Also, I seem to recall you once bringing Raj along on an anniversary Date Night, so you created the precedent."

"Why are you always dredging up my previous dating insufficiencies?"

"Because there were so many of them." She smiled at him smugly.

Sheldon paused, cocked his head, and then shrugged. "Even if we accept that your hypothesis is true, why did we come down here early to walk along the street?"

"Because," she stopped walking and waved her hand upwards, "I've been meaning to come here for a while. Bernadette told me about it."

Sheldon looked up at the sign on the store front. "A book store?"

"A used book store. It's supposed to have a wonderful selection."

He looked at her in horror. "Used books? Do you have any idea how many hands have touched them? Or where they've been? They're probably covered in germs. It's the same reason I don't have a library card."

"Then think of it as your civic duty, shopping local." She pushed open the door and a set of bells chimed.

"My local shop is Amazon," he said as he entered behind her.

A man at the counter looked over at them, peering over his glasses with disapproval.

"He means when he lived in Brazil." Amy smiled at the man.

"Amy, I never - ouch!" Sheldon put his hand down on his side where her elbow landed.

The man at the counter glowered a bit longer and then turned away.

"Sheldon," Amy whisper yelled, "that was rude."

"Why are we whispering?" Sheldon whispered back.

"Because we're in a book store." Amy started walked to the back of the store, if for no other reason than to get Sheldon out of eyesight of the employee (proprietor?) at the front.

"Amy, it smells like dust and mold in here."

"I think it smells nice." She turned look at the shelf behind her.

Sheldon raised both eyebrows. "What?"

"I imagine it's what an old library would smell like. Like Mr. Darcy's, at Pemberley."

"I could tell you there was an ax murder at Pemberley, and you would love ax murderers."

Amy reached up to pull a book of the shelf to study it. "Well, you did try to tell me there were zombies at Pemberley, and it didn't make me love zombies."

"Are you trying to start Book Club here? You said we could discuss it later, at home."

She looked up at him. "No, I wasn't. But I wouldn't be opposed. Old books and mold; it seems like an appropriate place for  _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ , doesn't it?"

Sheldon cocked his head. Then he looked down at his watch. "Very well. We have to do something to pass the time."

"You could look at books instead." Amy, though, was now rather struck on the idea of having Book Club in a bookstore. _And it will keep Sheldon from whining._ She put back the first book and pulled down another one.

"No, let's do Book Club." He leaned back, against the selves, in some sort of uncharacteristic teenage heartthrob pose, and Amy thought she just might die. Sexy Sheldon, posed like that, in a book store, talking about a version of  _Pride and Prejudice_!

"You were right, you know," Amy said.

"Of course I was right. About what?"

She flipped the pages of the book. "I had never read  _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_. And I probably wouldn't have, if you didn't pick it."

"Are you angry? Did you hate it? I know you said retellings were homages, not sacrilegious; but I wasn't sure, after I picked it, if you would be offended."

"Actually, no, I didn't hate it. I wasn't offended. Reading is about broadening one's horizons, among other things. I was actually . . . impressed." She quickly shelved the book to avoid his face.

"Really?"

"Yes, I thought it was very clever. It toes the line of being just too much without ever crossing it. Granted, there were some things I didn't like, but there were some things I liked better, actually."

"What did you dislike and what did you like more?"

"Well, I disliked the drawings. A lot. Completely ridiculous. And I didn't care for the actual zombie-fighting scenes. It was like  _The Walking Dead_  all over again. Ugh. Glad that show is over. Fortunately, they were well contained, and I was able to skip them."

"You skipped parts of a book?" Sheldon sounded shocked.

Amy looked at him. "That surprises you?"

"Yes. It makes it incomplete."

"You forget I'm not the one with closure issues."

"I forget nothing. It just there are no issues to forget."

Amy smiled at him. "Anyway, I thought the fights scenes were actually unnecessary. What the book excelled at was the illusions to the fighting and zombies, the way they were casually mentioned in humorous ways in passing. For example, what was that game they played?"

"Crypt and Coffin."

"Yes, that's it. Instead of whist. Just a clever little bit of word play. I liked that sort of just-another-routine-day-in-Hertfordshire tone." Amy paused to get another book. "Did you like it?"

"Yes. I also thought it was clever. Of course, I read the entire book. As the title implies, reading the zombie fighting scenes was essential. I enjoyed them. I miss  _The Walking Dead._ " He paused. "Amy, do you think Mr. Darcy is too proud and Elizabeth is too prejudiced or the other way around? I always thought it was the former, but it occurred to me while reading this that maybe it's the other way around."

Amy looked over at him. "I think it's both. He is too proud of his place in the social hierarchy and thus prejudiced against the lowly members of the village, and she is too proud of her wit and intelligence and thus prejudiced against someone she perceives as stuffy without a sense of humor."

Sheldon turned and leaned his shoulder against the books. "Yes, that could be it. You always explain things so well."

"Do you want to know what else I enjoyed about this book?" Amy asked.

"Always."

A zing of happiness shot through Amy's heart. "It made me laugh. There are things, of course, in the original that are funny; I mentioned Elizabeth's wit. But they're more subtle. It was fun that this book took it one step further. I laughed out loud a few times. What was that line about Charlotte Lucas being a spinster that Mrs. Bennet says when Charlotte is coming over for dinner?"

"'Since she is an unmarried woman of seven-and-twenty, and as such should expect little more than a crust of bread washed down with a cup of loneliness.'"

"Yes, that's the one. Also," Amy blushed slightly, "I have to admit I liked how both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were . . . mmmmm . . . a little more randy in this version."

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "Randy?"

Amy's knees weakened slightly. Sheldon, leaning against a book case, talking about literature, raising his devastating eyebrow, and using the word randy. She couldn't help but think about another line in the book, something about the dignity in the way his trousers cling to those most English parts. Which led her to imagining Sheldon rising out of lake in a wet, white tee shirt, and she had to turn quickly back to the bookshelf. She didn't answer, feeling the heat on her face.

If Sheldon noticed, he didn't say anything. She was never sure if he noticed these things.

The next book on the shelf was larger. She pulled it down and looked at the title.  _Clothing: An Introductory College Course._  She briefly debated about putting it back, because clothing wasn't really one of her interests. A couple of times Penny had tried to entice her to watch _Project Runway_ , but Amy found it histrionic. She thought most of the melodrama could have been resolved by a sensible cardigan. But she opened the book anyway because she loved textbooks so much. It fell open to a page somewhere in the middle, and her eyes were drawn to an underlined sentence. She read it twice, the second time very slowly.

"Amy?"

She snapped back to the present.

Sheldon sighed. "Did you hear me? I said we should be leaving soon to meet Raj and Stuart."

"Yes, of course." She ran her fingers over the sentence, reading it one more time. "I'm going to buy this book."

"What is it?"

"An old Home Economics textbook. I don't think you'd be interested."

He barely raised his eyebrows, but he followed her to the counter.

* * *

Two hours later, they arrived home. Sheldon didn't even notice the almost imperceptible relaxing of his shoulders that always accompanied his return.

"That was fun," Amy said. "We should do it again sometime. We've never been out with just the two of them before."

"They were never a couple before. I think. I don't know, it was confusing for a while." Sheldon shrugged.

"You noticed?" Amy asked.

"No, Leonard noticed and wanted to gossip about it, so he asked me about it. Then I did, in fact, find it confusing after observation."

"Did you - do you mind?"

"Mind?"  _What a strange question!_ "Why would I care what other people chose to do with their genitals? I just don't want them to tell me about it. It was just confusing because it was vague. Now it's concrete. I prefer the concrete."

She nodded at him. "I've got a few emails and things I need to do this evening."

"I'll make some tea." Sheldon asked, moving toward the kitchen.

"Thank you."

Sheldon sat his bag down on his desk chair as he walked by it. Then he remembered Amy's new book in it. "Do you want your book?"

"No, I don't need it right now," she said from her computer.

He pulled it out and looked at the title. A Home Economics book about clothing? He thought it was very strange for Amy. Why was Amy so clearly taken with this book, of all books, at the bookstore? "Do you mind if I look at it?"

"Please do. But I don't think you'll like it."

He carried it over to the island. Lifting the cover, he turned a few pages until the book shifted under its own weight to a page in the middle. There was a sentence underlined. Was this the page he had seen her touch, almost lovingly, at the store?

"In the home where the most intimate human relations hold, there is an atmosphere of affection and confidence, permitting full self-expression."

He looked over at Amy, lost in her own world. Yes, this had to be it. It sounded just like something she would love. Oddly, though, seeing it written like that, he didn't think it was sentimental nonsense. Although he had never thought about it those terms, he knew that Amy had given him an atmosphere of affection and confidence in their home, which did allow him to express himself fully. She never chided him for saying exactly what he was thinking. He could talk to her about anything. Sometimes, of course, she would tell him something was rude or inappropriate, but she always explained why to him. She gave him affection, and he, in turn, felt more confident.

Forgetting completely about the tea, he watched Amy, falling in love with her a little bit more.

* * *

**_Oops, it looks like my own private crack ship slipped in here somehow. Oh, well._ **

 


	20. Self-Expression

**Self-Expression**

* * *

_"In the home where the most intimate human relations hold, there is an atmosphere of affection and confidence, permitting full self-expression."_

_Forgetting completely about the tea kettle, he watched Amy, falling in love with her a little bit more._

* * *

Sheldon watched her, across the room, concentrating on her computer screen, knowing there were depths to her that he did not understand. He looked back down at the open book.

"Self-expression," it said.

More than once, Amy had told him that one of the things she loved most about him was that he was never afraid of being exactly who he was. He did not entirely understand this concept; who else would he be? But now he thought that maybe she was talking about self-expression. Was this quote, and by extension Amy, talking about the verbalization of ideas? He would have said he excelled at the verbalization of ideas. The explanation of an abstract idea, after all, was his life's work.

Except, well . . . "the most intimate of human relations." He rarely talked about that. (Still, years later, he was flummoxed by the memory of the day he volunteered to get the die from across his bedroom and verbalize things, physical things, to Amy. It was as though some strange Sheldon, a Sheldon from the future, perhaps, had travelled through time to help him. The whole experience still boggled his mind.) Sometimes, of course, it couldn't be helped. Whispering in the dark made it easier. But he was mostly content to let Amy talk about it. He was inclined to think she liked talking about it, especially right afterwards. If he did feel the need to ask her a question, she wasn't the least embarrassed to tell him every detail. She was more verbal than him, during, too. Surprisingly, he found he didn't mind, but he did not know if he enjoyed it just for the sound of her voice, her own excitement reflecting off of him, or if the words themselves lent power to the excitement. And Amy was a biologist, of course; was it because biological functions were surely ordinary to her that she could talk so easily about their intimate relations?

There was one phrase that Amy loved to hear, he knew, one phrase he rarely used. Not that he didn't feel it; in fact, he never ceased being surprised at how powerfully he felt it. It just wasn't something he often said, it just felt . . . strange in his mouth. But Amy loved it. He loved her. And, _oh boy,_  he really felt it in that moment. It wasn't an abstract idea at all, so surely he was capable of expressing this to her, his wife. He shut the textbook and walked over to her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Finding and sending this recipe to Raj that he asked about," she answered, not looking at him.

"It is urgent?"

"No." She looked up. "Why?"

"Because," he bent down to whisper in her ear, "I want you."

He saw her face flush.  _I've pleased her._

"Mmmm, do you, Dr. Cooper? Well, in that case . . ." She started to get up.

He gently put his hand on her shoulder. "Wait. First, I want to, um . . . I'm going to tell you what I plan on doing."

She raised her eyebrows and her eyes twinkled. He loved the twinkle. She eased back into the chair. "Okay. I'm listening."

_Oh, Albert Einstein, this was bad idea. What do I say?_ "First, after I disrobe you, I am going to use my superior longitudinal tongue muscle on your lobulus auriculae in an undulating motion. Then, I am going to use that same muscle on your papilla mammaria and areola in a orbicular motion until you vellicate. After that -"

Amy put her hand on his arm. He stopped. "What? Is not the order you would prefer?"

"No, it's not that." She signed softly. "Have you seen that episode of  _Friends_  where Rachel starts dating the gynecologist, and he asks her if she wants to make coffee at home after making it all day at work?"

"I don't understand a single word of that sentence." Sheldon was frustrated. What had he done wrong? And why on earth would Amy start babbling about unrelated nonsense at a time like this?  _Oh, no, was it that bad?_

"Never mind, bad example. It's just that, well . . . it's so very clinical when you say it that way."

"But I thought you would like it. It's scientific. And you like it when I try new things."

"Oh, Sheldon," she grasped his hand. "I like the idea of it very, very much. But when you say it that way, well," she shrugged, "it sounds like work."

Then he understood. He did not like it to be work, either; in fact, that was the exact phrase he had used with her when he told her he wanted to stop using the  _Kama Sutra_  (how embarrassed he had been talking about that!). "How should I say it?"

She smiled. "I like . . . euphemisms, allusions, things like that. I like to use my imagination."

"Euphemisms aren't really my forte."

"I know." She kissed the back of his hand. "So don't worry about it, then."

Sheldon nodded. He still felt the clutch of failure, but it was fading. Amy always said the right things. "I think the mood has dissipated hasn't it?"

"The night is still young. Maybe later."

"Indeed." He squeezed her hand and let it go. He went to his own computer, his mind churning.

* * *

Reading at his computer, he heard her stand even before she spoke. "I'm going to bed, Sheldon."

He closed his program. "I'll join you."

Their evening rituals firmly in place, they didn't need to speak. Sheldon undressed with his usual precision, and climbed nude into bed. He watched Amy undress with interest; he always loved it when he managed to get into bed before her. She was not so precise, she just threw things into the hamper, but he found this charming if unexplainable. He saw her glance furtively over at him, gauging his state of dress or undress. She lifted the covers up and slid in next to him, her naked skin brushing his. He turned off the beside lamp and rolled toward her, immediately pulling her lips to his.

Her lips were tracing his ear when he whispered, "Amy?"

"Mmmmmmm," was her only reply.

"I, uh, well, um," he cleared his throat and she pulled away from him. He forced himself to look the outline of her face. "Um, your body is an ivory pillar, a Grecian statue of such nobility and grace the gods weep in anguish. Your hair, your hair!, it so dark and deep that even a moonless night cannot contain it. When I gaze into your eyes, I can only see the ends of the earth. I long to whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you are full of them. I will kiss your lips of Cupid and drink from you, partaking of your honied soul. And then I will take my small, pink lingual organ and lap against your soft earlobe until I hear the murmuration of your gilded throat. Meanwhile, I will use my nimble digits to release your heaving bosom from its linen imprisonment. Once your powdery snowcaps are liberated, I shall stroke them with my palm until I attend you to moan upon the cold winter's air. At last, unable to contain my ceaseless passion, I shall take one of your delicate, pale rosebuds into my mouth and coddle it until you beseech me to -"

Amy put her hand upon his arm for the second that evening. He seethed.  _What is wrong this time? This is hopeless!_

"Sheldon, have you been composing these florid words all evening?" she asked. But she sounded slightly breathless.

"I, uh, well, if you must know," he felt his cheeks flush, "I looked up an M-rated _Pride and Prejudice_  fanfic. Because I noticed at the book store that you, uh, well you looked aroused when I repeated what you said about Mr. Darcy being randy. But I'm beginning to think it was poorly written."

Amy laughed, loud and full. As always, Sheldon thought the sound of her mirth just might make his heart explode. She was not angry.

"It is poorly written, isn't it?" he asked. "Is it too much?"

"Oh, yes, it's complete rubbish. But, no, it's not too much." She pulled him in for a kiss. "And, for the record, it wasn't Mr. Darcy that aroused me. It was you. It's always you. So be still my beating heart with your magniloquent prose, Mr. Cooper." Another deeper kiss. "I believe I was just about to beseech you to do some indecorous thing to my person."

"Quite indecorous, indeed, fair lady. You beseech me to . . ."

* * *

**_Oh, Shelly . . . Thank you for your reviews!_ **


	21. Le Petit Prince

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2016**

**Primary topic: _Le Petit Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupery**

* * *

Sheldon had lost things before. It was, after all, a lost dirty sock that had convinced him to meet Amy in the first place. He had lost her friendship in the cafeteria, and he had risked losing his mother's approval to gain it back again. It was a lost night of sleep that made him realize he was close to losing Amy to Stuart. Overcome with stress at the moment of Howard's lift-off, he had lost his mind and held her hand. He had lost his cool on the train, and he only found it again by deepening the kiss.

Occasionally, although he never discussed it, when he lost something of great importance, he had shed tears. The day he feared he had lost his position as Caltech's preeminent theoretical physicist, he had cried and welcomed Amy's hug. He had sat in his bedroom, crying through River Song's words to The Doctor the day of the Halloween party, when he thought he had lost Amy forever. Amy held him twice in the early morning hours that he cried over the lost Wolf Prize. Tears squeezed from his eyes the night he lost his virginity, trading it for hers, when there were too many emotions for his heart to hold inside.

Never, though, did he feel that he had lost himself. Until now. It had happened suddenly. One moment, Amy had just told him what book she had chosen for that month's Book Club and the next he floated away from the world listening to his mother's voice on the phone.

MeeMaw was dead.

There were so many horrible things about losing oneself, he discovered, in an odd, detached way. But two were the worst. The first was that he seemed to have lost his ability to cry just when, strangely, he needed it the most. He had not shed a single tear yet. The second was that he thought maybe he was losing Amy. However, because he was lost himself, he noticed this with cold, clinical detachment.

Amy. Clever, smart, logical Amy. He realized, from a distance, that she been impeccable. She had immediately assumed control of the situation. There was a hot beverage and a blanket. Phone calls were made for him, plane tickets were booked, suitcases were packed, and she carried him to Texas. She gave him openings to talk but didn't push him through when he ignored them. She hadn't left his side. Ever. She hadn't left his side until the day he went back to work, and then she walked across campus more than once a day to see him in his office. She still hadn't left him home alone.

Dispassionately, he did notice some things had found Amy that month. A permanent furrow seemed to have settled on her brow. New lines found their way around her eyes, matching the dark circles beneath. Silence found them both. Worry and sadness and hurt found her heart. He knew this when he allowed solitary thoughts to come to him, and he knew at least part of what she found was anger and confusion. Three times in the past month she had tried to find him in their bed, and three times he had rebuffed her coldly, maybe even cruelly. If he had been present, the look on her face would have killed him. But he was still alive because he wasn't really there.

Oh, he looked like he was there. He went through his day on auto-pilot. Over a year into their marriage, the routines were well ingrained. His schedules, his obsessive need for order, his dislike of change, they made everything seem the same. At least to those on the outside.

He had lost MeeMaw. He had lost himself. He had lost the most obvious outward manifestation of grief. He was losing Amy.

Apparently, he had also lost track of time, because when Amy softly asked him if he would mind if she went out with the girls, he had just shrugged. He was so disconnected he didn't know it was the last evening of the month.

Sitting in his spot, absent mindedly flipping television channels, Sheldon paused just long enough at the nightly news to hear the date. Something, he didn't know what, reached out to hook him. A tether.

He sat up straighter. He turned off the television. With the same unexplainable compelling force that prompted him to order tepid water in the coffee shop all those years ago, he walked to the bookcase. It was shelved right where it ought to be. He frowned slightly when he noticed it was in French. Had Amy told him that? Oddly, he didn't remember.

He thought about downloading it in English on his Kindle. No. Although he could not rationalize it, this book of Amy's felt like an anchor to him now. It had been a very long time since he'd read anything in French. But it was a children's book. How difficult could it be? He did remember snorting when Amy had told him, seconds before his phone rang, that it contained all the secrets of the universe.

Grabbing Amy's old French-English dictionary on another shelf, although he doubted he would need it, he carried them both to the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, he opened the book's pages. It even had pictures. This would be simple. A book with pictures for children could not contain the secrets of the universe. The word for boa constrictor stumped him for a minute. But, closing his eyes and thinking back, it came to him. He opened his eyes again and continued to read, rusty and slow at first, but his mind gradually found the meanings, just like bicycle pedals.

During the fifth chapter, Sheldon discovered that he appreciated the care and precision the little prince took with his life, the daily schedule he set for himself to make sure everything in his little world was orderly.

Near the end of chapter seven, when the golden-haired boy starting sobbing, he felt a pang in his soul. "It is such a secret place, the land of tears."

As he continued to read chapter eight, the pang grew stronger and his heart grew heavier. It was when the flower told the prince to go away that a dampness rose up in Sheldon's chest. "She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her."

The dampness stayed there until a word Sheldon could not place, not matter how hard he tried, appeared at the bottom of page fifty-three. Sighing, he looked it up in the dictionary. "Ephemeral." Fleeting. Transient. Fading. Passing. Vanishing. But it was when the geographer gave his definition of ephemeral, the one not found in the dictionary, that Sheldon felt the first prickle behind his eyes. "It means 'that which is in danger of speedy disappearance.'"

When the fox, the wisest of all creatures, explained the meaning of the golden wheat, the importance of rites, how to tame someone ("But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. It will be as if the sun came to shine in my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Yours will call me, like music."), the importance of the rose, and what was truly essential ("You become responsible, forever, for what you tamed."), the first tear dropped out of Sheldon's eye. A single tear, running down his cheek. By the time the pilot found the well and heard the laughter in the pulley, tears were coursing in silent rivers on his face.

He sobbed all through the last chapter, the tears blurring the words, the salty wetness of them spilling off his chin and landing on the pages of Amy's book.

"Send me word that he has come back." It was the last sentence.

Sheldon collapsed onto Amy's pillow and welcomed the keening that washed over him, again and again.

* * *

He awoke suddenly when he felt it, his body sore. He turned his face away from the headboard and watched Amy attempting to gently remove his shoes.

"Amy," he whispered.

She looked up. "I'm sorry I woke you. Although I don't know how you managed -" Then consternation crossed her face. "Sheldon, you've been crying."

Dropping his shoe on the ground, she crawled onto the bed. She had almost reached him when her hand struck the book. She looked down. "What's this?"

" _Le Petit Prince_." He looked at the book in her hands, the pages wrinkled and swollen, the spine probably cracked. "I think I ruined it."

"It doesn't matter. I'm sorry you read it."

Slowly, Sheldon sat up, his head aching slightly, his muscles stiff. "Why?"

"It's too sad. I -" she took a deep breath, "I didn't think we were reading this month. I should have said something. So you didn't have to read it right now. Because it's about . . . losing someone."

"I'm glad I read it. It's about life and love. And holding on and remembering. It helped. It's . . .it's . . ." He did not know how to express it.

"I know. It is."

"I'm sorry, Amy."

"It's okay. I can get another book."

"No, not the book. I haven't been here. I've been . . . " He made a waving motion with his hand.

Amy didn't respond with words. She just reached for him, and drew him in for a hug, pulling him back into her orbit, almost crushing him with her gravity. When he felt her tears upon his ear, he realized it wasn't just that he had lost himself that month. Amy thought she had lost him, too, and it was killing her.

"I'm coming back to you," he whispered, soft tears falling again. They held each other, crying, until they lost track of time, and, then, exhausted, they undressed and got under the blankets to sleep. Early in the morning, Sheldon found Amy again and tied himself to her.


	22. Denial

_**Surprise! There is an extra chapter for After Dark for this Book Club chapter! It's a bit a surprise to me, too, as I wrote this chapter several weeks ago but wasn't going to post it as it doesn't meet my self-created rules for After Dark stories. But then a reader who is also a friend informed me that you'd all rather have an extra chapter than yours truly adhering to some sort of self-imposed rule. So here it is. And, no, it doesn't follow the rules. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!** _

* * *

**Denial**

* * *

_Apparently, he had also lost track of time, because when Amy softly asked him if he would mind if she went out with the girls, he had just shrugged. He was so disconnected he didn't know it was the last evening of the month._

* * *

"Ames! You made it!" Penny cheered from her seat at the table. "Watcha drinking tonight?"

Amy sat down between her two girlfriends. "Just water. I drove myself. No DD."

"Ah, you deserve some wine. We can give you a ride home," Bernadette offered.

"No, thank you. Then we'll have to come get the car later and it will be weird."

"Well, anyway, we're just glad you decided to come," Penny said after the waiter came to take their order. "What was it you thought you were doing tonight?"

Amy frowned. "Technically, it's Book Club Night. But Sheldon didn't read the book. I mean, I don't think so, because he hasn't said anything about it. I decided at the last minute I needed a night out. Not that Sheldon is likely to notice, so I don't know why I'm worried."

Her friends exchanged a look she was, unfortunately, becoming all too familiar with lately before beaming exaggerated smiles back at her.

"So, how's work?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine."

"And, uh, the harp?" Penny asked

"Fine."

"And . . . reading?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine."

"Hmmmm," Penny and Bernadette hummed in unison before exchanging another glance.

"Oh, I forgot!" Bernadette said. "I got the first proofs from the photographer today of Jacob's pictures. Let me pull up the link." She fiddled with her phone for a moment before passing it to Penny.

"Bernadette, he's adorable," Penny squealed as she flipped through the images. "These are so great! Now that he's finally getting some hair he looks more like you. And that smile!"

"Yeah, I think he's already mastered the art of flirting. I blame Howie."

Amy's friends chuckled, and then Amy realized she wasn't so she joined in. Penny passed her the phone. Jacob Wolowitz's chubby smile filled the screen. Amy flipped through as quickly as she thought she could and still be tactful. She could not deal with a happy baby. "Yes, these are good."

Another glance exchange.

"Well, girls, what should we do? If we want to recapture our youth, I'd say let's go dancing. But, honestly, I could eat a horse," Penny said

"Me, too, I haven't had dinner yet. We're in a Spanish bar, let's have tapas!" Bernadette replied.

Amy had no idea how long she had been staring down into her water glass before she noticed the silence. She looked up to see her friends looking at her. "Yes, food is fine."

"Perfect, here comes our waiter," Penny said. After she and Bernadette discussed and questioned and ordered for all of them, she spoke again, "I have some maybe good news. Remember that horrible SyFy movie I did? Where I was doing research in the arctic but there was rare arctic snow tsunami with crocodiles in it?"

" _Crocazard!_  Of course, we all went the premiere, remember?" Bernadette said excitedly.

"My agent called and said they're writing a sequel. Well, it's really the same story. Just in Antarctica this time with alligators, but you know."

"Penny, that's wonderful! To Penny and  _Crocazard 2_!" She lifted her glass for a toast.

Another pause before Amy realized they were looking at her. She lifted her glass. "Yeah, to Penny."

After they all took a drink, Penny sat her drink down with a deep sigh. "Ames, sweetie, do you want to talk about it? Because it's obvious you're not paying any attention to our attempts to cheer you up."

Amy felt guilty. And exhausted. And exhausted of feeling guilty. It was one the few emotions in constant rotation this month: confusion, sadness, anxiety, and guilt. "I'm sorry. I guess I've not been much fun lately."

"Don't apologize to us. We're worried about you. And Sheldon. Have you guys talked about it?" Bernadette asked.

"MeeMaw? No. That would require an actual conversation. With complete sentences. If Sheldon managed five syllables in a row I'd be thrilled."

"Is he at least eating now? He's getting scary skinny," Penny said.

"No. I've tried all his favorites, but he just pushes it around his plate and picks at it and takes maybe three bites. I even asked his mother for her pecan pie recipe and slaved all afternoon on it, and that didn't work."

Penny and Bernadette nodded slowly and they all took a drink. No one spoke. Finally Amy took a deep breath. "Thanks for asking. And trying to help. Or at least cheer me up. But I just don't know what to do. The hardest part is that I think Sheldon doesn't realize that everything has changed. I think he thinks as long as he sticks to all his routines no one will notice. How do you deal with that? Isn't ending denial the first step any healing process?"

"Do you want me to talk to him? I didn't know I was depressed at first. I thought I was just tired and overwhelmed, that every new mother felt like that. Honestly," Bernadette blushed, "I might still be that horrible place if you hadn't sat me down and bluntly told me what you suspected, Amy. I'll always be grateful to you for that. Maybe I could repay the favor."

Bernadette reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Almost immediately, Amy felt a tear running down her cheek. She reached up with her free hand to stop it. "Sorry. I guess I'm emotional, too. And, well, if we're being honest, I'm starving for physical affection. Thank you for your offer. But I don't think he'd take it well from you. I think it has to be . . ." Amy's breath rattled as another unwelcome tear squeezed out. "I think I'm going to ask his mom to come. Because I obviously can't do it. Me, his wife. I'm such a failure!"

"Oh, sweetie, you're not a failure." Penny passed her a napkin. "Do you want to leave? I'll find our waiter and cancel our order. It will piss him off, but I'm sure he's used to it. There's always one table, and it'll just be us tonight."

"No, no," Amy patted her face. "That's it, I think. I just hadn't said it before. Knowing something and saying it out loud can be two different things."

"You're not a failure, Amy. You single handily turned Sheldon Cooper into a real boy. I'm sure this is just a rough patch, and you guys will be fine. You're perfect for each other!" Penny said.

"That only makes it worse. I feel so hopeless. I love him so much, but I can't seem to reach him. It's so hard to watch someone you love shrivel up like that, and you feel like you have no control over it. Maybe we're not so perfect together after all." Amy shrugged.

"Listen to me, Amy," Bernadette's voice turned gravelly and deeper. "Do not say that. I know you think we were all so drunk we wouldn't remember, but not so long ago you lectured Penny and me when we needed some tough love. Here's my tough love: yeah, your marriage sucks right now. Yes, Sheldon is probably depressed and acting like an asshole or whatever. But you did nothing wrong. I can't believe the Amy I know would ever be afraid to speak her mind. So you just need to sit that man of your's down, tell him that he needs help, and you're going to get it for him. Or maybe both of you, I won't pretend to know everything about your marriage."

Amy shook her head. "I'm not even sure he listens when I talk anymore. And there is no way I'll ever get Sheldon to a physiologist or someone like that. Although maybe just the threat would wake him up. Oh, I don't know. I keep thinking that one little thing will reach him."

"Do you want us to do it all together? Like an intervention?" Penny asked. "Because the guys are worried too, you know."

"I know. They've all come to talk to me." She shook her head again, recalling how embarrassed and sad those conversations had made her. "No, I think that's too confrontational."

There was another pause as they all stared into their respective drinks.

"When are you going to call his mom?" Bernadette asked.

"Soon, I guess."

"Sweetie, we'll support you whatever you decide to do. But I think I you need to do it before this goes on any longer," Penny said.

"Maybe you're right. I just wish we could figure this out ourselves. We're intelligent adults, right? We love each other. I refuse to believe otherwise. So why can't we do this?"

"I think you can," Bernadette said. "Penny's right, I'll support you no matter what you decide. But I don't think you need Mary Cooper. You just need each other."

_You just need each other._

Amy let the words roll about in her head. All she had never needed was Sheldon. She liked to think the same was true for him. She realized that perhaps she had been in a bit of denial herself this month. She nodded. "Give me a week, okay? I need to think of the best way to approach this. It probably won't be tomorrow. But I'll talk to him this week. You can hold me to it."

Penny and Bernadette smiled at her, and they were genuine smiles, not the forced over-large ones they had used earlier in the evening. Then their food came, and there was the usual busyness that always accompanies that.

"How about we go see a movie?" Penny asked.

"I'd love that. I haven't been to a movie since Jacob was born," Bernadette said.

"There's that new movie, _Housewives_ , that's the sequel to  _Bridesmaids_. We could all use a laugh. It's about married women in the their thirties, just like us," Penny said.

"Penny, you're the only housewife," Amy said. "And you just turned thirty."

"No, I'm an actor currently between jobs. That's different. And all the women in the movie have jobs."

"Then why is it called  _Housewives_?" Amy asked.

"I read it's supposed to be ironic. You know, just because even though a woman has a full-time job, she's still expected to do all the chores of a housewife, too," Bernadette answered. "Well, except maybe you, Amy. You're so lucky Sheldon is a neat freak and does his fair share of the cleaning and laundry."

"Yeah. The only freak in our house is Sara, and she only comes once a week and charges for it," Penny quipped.

"When you say it like that she sounds like a prostitute, not your cleaning lady," Amy said.

First Bernadette laughed, then Penny, and, finally Amy joined in. Laughing and remembering how good it felt to laugh, she knew they were right. She and Sheldon could fix this. They only needed each other. And maybe their friends.


	23. The Knot

**The Knot**

* * *

_Early in the morning, Sheldon found Amy again and tied himself to her._

* * *

Amy rose up slowly, her mind still in the violet haze where everything is both possible and impossible, but her body already opening to the kisses on her face and the fingertips circling over her stomach.  _Mmmmm, Sheldon._ It all felt so familiar and comforting and yet, every time, it made her heart race.  _Yessss, Sheldon._ His kisses became more urgent, and she felt her nipples harden beneath his touch.  _Ohhhh, Sheldon, why does it feel like it has been so long?_

Sheldon. Her eyes popped open. She knew he didn't notice, as his face was deep in her neck and collarbones. It had been exactly thirty-two days. She knew the date as surely as she knew her birthday, as surely as she knew the date she met him, as surely as she knew the date she finally become his. Sheldon had not even tried to kiss her in thirty-two days.

Her mind, now fully awake, began to fight her body. No, we shouldn't do this.  _Yes, let_ _'_ _s._ No, we need to talk first.  _We_ _'_ _ll talk later._  No, I should not give myself over to desire.  _Desire feels so good._ This is not healthy, this is not a healthy way to rescue a relationship. _Sexually active people generally enjoy better health._  Her mind was winning, as her body had given up to her knowledge and logic. Despite their faults, they had never once used sex as a weapon or an excuse or a bandage; their living room floor sex was a game and they both knew it. And she was not going to allow it to start now.

Before she could speak, though, the kissing stopped.

"I"m sorry, Amy. I can't. I want to, but I can't. You deserve -" The last word came out as a sob. She pulled him in closer, and he slumped into her and let her hold him, soothing his hair while he cried. Fortunately, his tears did not last long that morning, unlike the night before. She heard his blubbering die away, leaving only raspy breathes.

"This is what we are going to do," she whispered into his ear, trying to convey both solace and certainty. "We are both going to take a personal day. Let's go back to sleep now since it's still so early and we'll sleep in. You've not been sleeping well. Once we're awake, I'm going to make you a huge breakfast of whatever you want, and you're going to eat it. All of it. You've lost too much weight. And then we're going to talk. Very seriously and for a long time."

She did not phrase it as a question or an optional plan. It was what they were going to do. She had come to concede Penny's point, at some point the prior evening, when Sheldon cried so long and hard in her arms that she was afraid he might become ill or hyperventilate, that she had let this, whatever this was, go on too long. It was her fault; she knew even that first week after MeeMaw died that something was very wrong with Sheldon. It was grief, she knew, but it was the deepest, darkest grief she had even seen; it had seemed to traverse through grief and into pathos.

Nothing happened for several minutes, and then Sheldon said, "Yes."

"Do you want me to leave the message for you?" she asked, letting go of him.

"No, I'll do it." They both reached for their phones, and they both called and left messages with their respective departments that they would not be in that day.

"I'm turning my phone off," Sheldon volunteered.

"Good idea." Amy did the same. Then she lay back down. She waited for the Sheldon to relax next to her, but he didn't. He was still sitting up, looking at her.

"Amy, do you mind - I think - can we talk now? At least for a little while?"

A tiny bubble of hope rose in her. She tried to keep her voice calm, afraid of breaking it. "Of course. Would you rather go to the living room? Have some tea?"

"No. I want to do it here." Then he laid down next to her, but she noticed that his movements seemed stiff. Neither of them moved to turn on a light; Amy hoped he would relax more in the dark, as he often did.

But now that she had finally broached this painful subject, she had no idea what to say, how to start the conversation. He didn't speak, either. But she knew she should not, they could not, ignore this one more hour.

"Sheldon -"

"Amy -"

She turned her head to look at him; he did the same. She curled up close to him and gingerly laid her head on his shoulder, tucking her arms in close to her chest. Despite the way the morning had started, it had been thirty-two days since Sheldon had allowed her touch him. He had cringed away from her attempts at comforting hugs, shimmied just out of reach of every attempt at a smallest, gentlest touch.

This time, though, he did not move away from her. Instead, he reached over and placed just his fingertips on her shoulder. It gave her the courage she needed.

"Sheldon," she started again, "I honestly don't know what to say. But I know something has to be said. I know it's going to be talking about your emotions, and you hate that, but . . ."

"I don't hate it with you."

"Then why didn't you talk to me for so long?" She regretted the sharpness as soon as it was out of her mouth. This was not the best approach. She should not make it sound like she was blaming him. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm not angry with you."

"It didn't come out wrong. It came out exactly right."

Hearing him say it, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, without a single hint of judgement, she experienced a reprieve for which she didn't even know she was waiting.

"Fine," she said, this time honestly, "I am angry with you. I am hurt. I am confused. I don't understand what I did wrong, I don't understand why you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't let me help you, support you."

"I don't know. I wish I did. Please believe me, Amy, it's the truth. You didn't do anything wrong, but I know I treated you like you did. I don't know. I understand if you feel that's not good enough for you, because it's not. I was - I don't know how to describe it."

"Please try."

He sighed softly. "I will. It won't make any sense. It doesn't even make sense to me." He sighed again. "It was like I was in a dream. I knew everything that was happening, I felt like I was thinking clearly - maybe you'll disagree - but I felt like I was there. I remember having conversations, doing things I always do, but it was like I didn't . . . care. I felt like I wasn't myself, trapped in this uncertain, empty state. Even though I knew it wasn't like me, I couldn't get out of it. I was treading water. But . . . I think I felt like no one cared about me. Even though I knew it wasn't true. You've taught me so many things, Amy, and one of those things is how much you care. And not just you, my friends, too. But . . . I don't know. It was like MeeMaw was dead and I was sad, but after everyone said all these nice, sympathetic things, everything in their lives just went on like normal. But I don't have my MeeMaw to call every week. . . It's so illogical."

Amy reached up to wipe a tear off her cheek. "I don't just care. I love you."

"I know. You love me more than . . . Before I met you, I always thought this kind of love was a social construct, a delusion that people told themselves to make their lives easier or justify sex. That I was strong enough without it. But then I met you and I -" His voice broke, and he lifted his hand off of her to wipe his own face. She lay there, silently, letting him gather himself. "I don't understand what any of this has to do with MeeMaw. I loved her, too, but it was different, of course. I'm meandering and it's beneath me."

"I like it when you meander."

"You would."

Unbidden, a hint of a smile played on the edges of her mind. There was something in his voice that she had missed like mad. There was hauteur, to be sure, but there was mostly love. Love. She let the word melt in her brain. This was how the Sheldon of thirty-days ago would have teased her. The more recent Sheldon, the shell of a Sheldon, didn't have any interest in teasing her. He lacked spark. He was so distant, too far away to put any emotion into his words.

"Sheldon, I'm sure you understand that just because your friends move on with their lives, it doesn't mean they don't love you anymore or care about your loss. And I happen to know they've all been very worried about you."

"I do. I know. I feel foolish. MeeMaw was an elderly woman and her health has been poor recently. She still lived in Texas, I didn't see her every day or even every month. I shouldn't have been surprised."

"You can still feel sad and mourn someone even if you are prepared for their death. There's nothing wrong with that. And I'm not blameless. I let you go for too long, without trying to intervene. I'm sorry, Sheldon. I don't why I did that. I should have been honest with you sooner and stood up to you, made you face your feelings."

He shifted beneath her, and she moved off of him. He rolled on his side to look at her, and brought a hand up to her cheek. "Amy? Will we be okay? Have I ruined us?"

"Oh, Sheldon, you could never ruin us. It's my fault, too. We're always best when we just talk about things, and you were too sad or lost to talk and I was too afraid to make you talk and somehow we both lost sight of that. . ." She took a deep breath. "We'll be okay. We'll make sure of it. We'll be better than okay."

He nodded. "I want to say something. It's the most important thing I've ever said, and I'm so angry that I let myself go so long without saying it to you."

"Okay."

"I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler." He took her hand, kissed her palm and placed it on his stomach. Her thumb grazed his tenth rib, more exposed now that he was too thin.  _This is bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh_ ; the words flitted across Amy's brain. Sheldon continued, "You hold the weak parts of me together. I'm sorry I forgot that."

Then he smiled at her, a sweet, sad, lovely smile. Slowly, he leaned toward her and kissed her very gently, his lips barely pressing against hers. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Oh, Sheldon, I'm so sorry, too." Amy batted back a tear, and it occurred to her she did not want to wallow in self-pity. "Listen, today, we can say that to each other. We probably ought to say it several times. But, beginning tomorrow, we won't say it again. Not about this. Tomorrow, we move forward."

He nodded. She took his hand in hers, and curled completely into him. They fell asleep. They would sleep in and eat a huge breakfast. They would sit on the sofa together, talking, for hours. In the dark again, she would fully open her body for him. But, that morning, with dawn just breaking over the horizon, she wove her fingers through his, feeling their rings touching, and they knotted themselves together while they slept.


	24. The Picture of Dorian Gray

**_Sometimes my sentimental heart beats too wildly. But I think we all (including the Shamy) could use some fluff right about now. Enjoy!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2016**

**Primary topic: _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde**

**Additional book(s) mentioned:** **_Dracula_  by Bram Stoker, ** **_The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_  by Robert Louis Stevenson, ** **_**_The League of Extraordinary Gentleman, Vol. 1_  ** _ **by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill, and** ** **_**A Tale of Two Cities** _ **by Charles Dickens** **

* * *

_Tonight is Book Club Night._  It was the first complete thought to form in Amy's brain that morning, between Sheldon's fourth and fifth shake to wake her up. She left her eyes closed while he completed his morning waking ritual, but anticipation spread through her.

Of all their rituals, Book Club had become one of her favorites. (The shaking awake, not so much. Some mornings she missed the harsh buzz of an alarm clock. But Sheldon was always already awake, like a cat, eager to go to work.) It had become her favorite because she loved to read, because she loved to hear Sheldon's thoughts, because it was a night set aside for conversation. Even though she had always enjoyed it, she did not realize how important it had become to both of them until last time.

Last time, two months ago. Her heart constricted at the memory. It was Book Club, or a form of a book club, that had broken the ice between them. It felt tangible and necessary. Book Club taught her that if something was going to fix him, to fix them, it was up to her find it, within themselves.

She was still not sure how it happened, but it was a book that brought him back. The book didn't fix him, of course. It was their conversations, the first one the next morning when they called into work, that had, gradually over the next week, fixed them. But it was the book that made him see they needed fixing.

He leaned over the bed and shook her three more times. "Chop, chop, Amy. We'll be late. I'll make your cereal. Honey Nut Cheerios, your favorite. And don't forget: tonight is the second anniversary of the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation!"

Amy smiled and got out of bed.

* * *

She was stirring the sauce when Sheldon's arms came around her.

"Smells good," he said into her ear.

"Nothing fancy. Just penne and meat sauce," she answered, pleasantly surprised at his unexpected display of affection. He had been in a good mood, a great mood, all day.

"Delicious. What can I do?"

"Make a salad? I'll need to drain the pasta soon."

"Okay."

His arms left her, and she regretted giving him a task. He might have stayed, a least for a minute, if she hadn't said anything. Or maybe not, it wasn't Sheldon's usual style.

She busied herself draining the pasta and finishing the meal, her eyes occasionally glancing over at Sheldon at the island, studiously making a composed salad. Some restaurants claimed to serve a composed salad, but Sheldon's salads were the most composed of all. They were works of art. She got out the plates and the glasses and the silverware and set their places around him as he concentrated.

"There, it's done." He took a small step back.

Amy looked at the salad, so beautiful and bright, every ingredient arranged in a perfect row. It would be such a shame to toss it. "Have you ever had a salade niçoise, Sheldon?"

"No. Why?"

"I think you would make a beautiful one."

"It's just a salad, Amy."

"But it's beautiful. You alway make the most attractive salads."

He shrugged and blushed slightly. "Uh, well, thank you."

Was he embarrassed by this compliment? She thought he was. How strange. He accepted compliments about his intelligence and his work as though they were his due (which, she knew, they were). She supposed it was because to Sheldon science and art were two very different things, not likely to meet. Which brought her mind to Book Club.

"So,  _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ ," she said as she sat down the large bowl of pasta. "Interesting choice, Sheldon."

"You were surprised I picked it? I had a good reason." Sheldon sat down across from her.

"I know why you picked it. You streamed that movie from Netflix, the one with Sean Connery and all the plot holes."

Sheldon started on his stool. " _The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_. Yes. But plot holes?"

"Nazis? A giant submarine navigating the canals of Venice without damaging a single building?"

His shoulders sank slightly. She felt the tiniest bit guilty. She decided she wouldn't say anything else about it. Movie plots were a touchy subject.

"Never mind. When a movie is about a group of fictional characters from different genres coming together to fight a common foe, some allowances need to made," she said. "You picked  _Dorian Gray_ because he is a character in a movie you enjoyed. I understand. But why  _Dorian Gray_  and not  _Dracula_  or  _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?_ "

"I've read  _Dracula_. And even though I've never read  _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , I know the story. I didn't know much about  _Dorian Gray_ , only what was in the movie."

Amy nodded. "Were you disappointed with the book? A lot of poetic license was taken with the character for movie."

He sighed. "Yes. No. I don't know. Not disappointed, really. It was just nothing at all like I thought it would be."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Are you saying you liked the book?"

"No, I hated it. It was torture to finish it."

"You didn't have to finish it. You're not being graded, you know."

His mouth full of food, Sheldon conveyed his horror with only his eyes. Amy offered him a soft smile in return. No, Sheldon would never leave a book unfinished. She continued, "Why, exactly, did you hate it?"

"What is there not to hate? The two primary characters are horrible people who say and do terrible things. And you thought  _Flatland_  was revolting." He shook his head. "Oh, wait! Was this a satire?"

"I'm not sure. It's not usually considered one, I don't think. But I think that argument could be supported. I don't believe for a second that Wilde believes all of those disgusting things that Dorian and Lord Henry say. That's why Basil is there, as a counterpoint."

"But he isn't very effective, is he? He's not in the story very much, and he comes across so . . . bland, I guess."

Amy nodded. "Well, I suppose anyone who is that good, as close to perfect as any human being can be, would be bland."

"Do you really believe that? Then why should one strive to be a good person?"

"I still believe we should try to be good people. But of course no one will ever obtain that completely. I'm just saying if someone did achieve that, they might be boring." She screwed up her face. "Remember when I tried to get you to watch  _Call the Midwife_  with me, what you said?"

"Ugh, Amy, we're eating."

"No, not that. You said Jenny, the main character, was too good to be realistic."

Sheldon cocked his head slightly. "Maybe. I can see your point. But then maybe the characters in  _Dorian Gray_  were too evil to be realistic."

"Sadly, I think that is not true." She shook her head. "Anyway, we agree that the Dorian and Lord Henry are disgusting people and Basil is their angelic but ineffectual counterpoint. But that is not the reason to read Oscar Wilde."

"Then why does one read Oscar Wilde?"

"The language, Sheldon, the language! And his plays are very funny. I made a list of my favorite phrases in the book." Amy hurried off her stool to her desk and came back carrying a sheet of paper. She cleared her throat and started to read. "'Forget-me-not eyes.' 'They had been plucked at midnight, and the coldness of the moon had entered into them.'"

"Overly sentimental."

"But evocative. You could taste the cherries, couldn't you? 'The sky was pure opal now, and the roofs of the houses glistened like silver against it.' 'She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest.'"

"I presume that is Penny's philosophy."

"If Penny is a tempest, she is the most beautiful one I've ever seen." She looked back down at her list. "'He was trying to gather up the scarlet threads of life and to weave them into a pattern.' 'Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed through the windows.' I loved this next one! 'The mere cadence of the sentences, the subtle monotony of their music, so full as it was of complex refrains and movements elaborately repeated, produced in the mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to chapter, a form of reverie, a malady of dreaming that made him unconscious of the falling day and the creeping shadows. For years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from the memory of this book.'"

"You like that one because it's about reading."

"Yes. 'He had mad hungers that grew more ravenous as he fed them.'"

"I thought that one was about sex."

Amy lowered the paper and looked at Sheldon over the top. He raised an eyebrow. She felt very warm.

She tried to focus her concentration again. "'I didn't say I liked it, Henry, I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.'"

"That was my favorite. It made me think of Spock."

Amy lowered the paper again. "Spock?"

"Yes, in  _The Squire of Gothos_ , Spock tells Captain Kirk 'Fascinating is a word I use for the unexpected. In this case, I should think "interesting" would suffice.'"

She smiled at him across the island, putting her list down.

"There is one thing I think  _The League of Extraordinary Gentleman_  improved upon," Sheldon said. "In the movie, Dorian cannot look at his painting or he will die. In the book, he loves looking at it. It seems to me that to gloat upon and be proud of your hedonistic actions makes them even worse."

"Of course it does. I think Wilde is trying to imply that. But one of the themes of the book is the dangers of narcissism. Along with vanity and duplicity and the meaning of sin."

"I learned enough about the meaning of sin growing up in Texas, thank you very much."

Amy shrugged. "Okay, look at it as a dialogue on the concept of aestheticism."

"I looked up aestheticism."

"Really?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. Although I am not going to subscribe to any sort of philosophical or artistic movement without a scientific basis, I do appreciate it as a concept. Why does art always have to be about something else? Why can't you either just like it or not? Why can't it just be beautiful or well-written and you just enjoy it for that? Why are students forced to write essays justifying why they love or hate something? Why are they forced to use other concepts, like social mores, to explain it? Or trying to psychoanalyze the author or artist? If you love something, that ought to be enough; you shouldn't have to explain your love to the entire world. You love it, ergo it's perfect. Or it's perfect, ergo you love it. Oh, I don't know! This is why I'm a scientist!" He finished in an exasperated rush and took a bite of food as though even that was annoying him.

 _Wow._ Amy stared at him. For a brief second, she wondered if she had been wrong all along, that Sheldon didn't enjoy Book Club. She banished the thought when she remembered his excited comment that morning.  _No, he enjoys it. I know it._

He took another hasty mouthful of food before meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Amy."

"For what?"

He shrugged. "I said too much."

"No, you didn't. But," she bit her lip, "I hope you don't think I'm trying to make you psychoanalyze the books we read. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can stop Book Club."

He put his fork down. "No, I never think that. You never make me talk more than I want to. I've grown to, uh, love Book Club. I just hope my commentary is interesting enough to you. You're much better at than I am."

She let out a breath. "I love Book Club, too. I love your commentary. You're always honest about what you think, and that is what matters to me." She paused. "While I do enjoy critical essays on great works of literature because they can make me notice something I didn't notice on my own or explain something new to me, I agree with you, too. I also believe in loving something on your own terms, just loving it because you do." She smirked. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"What do cigars have to do with this?" He looked confused.

She chuckled. "Never mind. I'll explain it to you later. Right now, I have a gift for you."

He sat up straighter. "You do?"

"Yes," she said, walking over to her desk, "and before you worry about the social obligations, let me remind you there are no such social obligations between us. And it's a small thing, really."

She came to stand next to him and held out the plastic-wrapped comic book. He took it from her.

" _The League of Extraordinary Gentleman: Volume I_." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you."

"I noticed you didn't own it. Maybe you'll be pleased at how much Dorian Gray is in it."

"You read it?"

"Yes. I hope you don't mind. If you like, we can talk about it after you read it."

He smiled at her. She started to pick up their plates.

"Leave them, Amy, we'll get them later," Sheldon said.

Amy raised her eyebrows.  _Is Sheldon suggesting leaving dirty dishes out? What has gotten into him? Was my little gift that exciting?_

"I, uh, come over to the sofa." He reached for her hand, and she let go of the plates. Intrigued, she followed him, holding his hand, sitting down next to him, in their usual spots.

He turned toward her and took a deep breath. His ran his thumb along her wedding ring, something Amy had learned meant he was nervous. "I have something for you, too. I've been saving it for a couple of weeks. Until tonight. Book Club Night. I don't know why, it just seemed right."

Amy's brain ran through a dozen possibilities and never settled on one.

"I know we had a . . . well, a rough patch a couple of months ago - no, let me finish," he interrupted her before she could even speak. "I know you have told me, numerous times, that I shouldn't apologize anymore, that it was part of our vows, part of 'the best of times and the worst of times -'"

She could not help but smile that he was so nervous he had confused wedding vows with  _A Tale of Two Cities_. But she found it more appropriate tonight, anyway.

"- so this is not an apology. This is a reminder. I want both of us to see it every day."

He let go of her hand and got up to go to his desk. He returned with a small black box. Sitting down, he held it out to her.

"Oh, Sheldon," She felt tears prickle at her eyes as she took it.

"You haven't opened it yet. You might hate it," he said.

She knew that was not true. It did not matter what it was. She opened the hinged lid slowly, her heart thumping. It was not at all what she thought it might be. It was jewelry, yes, but it was the most unusual ring she had ever seen.

Gently, she pulled it out and held it up to the light. Nestled flush with titanium band were two small diamonds, touching but for the necessary prongs between them.

"You designed this." Tears, happy tears, slipped down her cheeks. She knew as soon as she saw it. It was too special, too unique.

"Yes. They're -"

"- binary stars."

His face lit up. "You remember. I haven't said it since."

"I'll never forget."

"It's my promise to never forget, either. A pair of stars, locked in orbit." He took the ring from her and slid it onto her finger, above her wedding ring. "You never had an engagement ring."

He looked up her. "I love you, Amy."

"I love you, too."

He smiled but then frowned deeply. "I always do these thing incorrectly. I had meant to do it on one knee."

Amy was so happy she did not want him disappointed in any way. Her tears were drying, so she smiled to lighten the mood. "Dr. Cooper, there is only one way I ever want you on your knees before me."

He raised one eyebrow. "Well, Dr. Fowler, ask and you shall receive. To the shower!"

Surprising her with sudden action, he pulled her up and led her to the bathroom. She laughed the whole way.


	25. Being Wrong

**Being Wrong**

* * *

_Amy was so happy she did not want him disappointed in any way. "Dr. Cooper, there is only one way I ever want you on your knees before me."_

_He raised one eyebrow. "Well, Dr. Fowler, ask and you shall receive. To the shower!"_

_Surprising her with sudden action, he pulled her up and led her to the bathroom. She laughed the whole way._

* * *

"What are you doing? The water is hot," Sheldon asked from the behind the shower curtain.

"Just tying my hair up. It will only a take a second," Amy replied. Indeed, almost immediately he heard her scamper over to him, and the curtain moved aside as she stepped in.

He shifted so that she could take her place under the falling water. After grabbing a wash cloth and the soap, he started methodically cleaning her shoulders and back. Unable to resist her, he followed with a string of kisses.

"Mmm, that's lovely, but remember what happened the last time we tried to do it in the shower."

His tailbone ached at the memory. He grumbled, "I thought I broke my coccyx."

Because she was right, he sighed in frustration and returned to just washing her in silence. Because of the parts he was washing, the aching spread. He heard her sharp intake of air when he let his fingertip explore her, just for a second or two. Desire building, he chanced kissing her on the very junction of her lower abdomen and her dark curls.

Suddenly, the warm water was gone. He looked up. "Why did you turn the water off?"

"First, because if you do that here, I'm fairly certain I'll collapse and break my coccyx. Second, I have another idea." Amy opened the shower curtain, and goosebumps immediately raised on their flesh from the cooler air.

They stepped out, and Amy handed him his towel. Drying off, he asked, "What is your idea?"

"Spoilers, Dr. Cooper," she smirked. His heart skipped a beat. After a few more quick rub downs with the towel, she added, "Give me five minutes."

She practically ran out of the bathroom.

His interest was too piqued for him to even care that she had just dropped her towel on the floor. He finished drying himself and then placed both towels over the towel bar, working to make sure they were even and straight. His mind was running through the possibilities. She had quoted River Song, so perhaps this was some sort of  _Doctor Who_  based sex game. His heart skipped another beat. To kill time, he opened the medicine cabinet to make sure everything was in order.  _This is the longest five minutes of my life!_

Mercifully, he finally felt certain a full five minutes had passed. He peered out of the bathroom. The bedroom door was shut. "Amy?"

"I'm ready. Come in."

Sheldon walked down the short hallway and pushed open their bedroom door. Amy was lying on the bed, on her side, in a very come-hither pose, dressed as Nurse Chapel. His heart skipped five beats.  _Even better than Doctor Who!_

She spoke before he could. "I'm in love with you, Mr. Spock. The human half and the Vulcan half. I love you just as you are."

Feeling like he was on Vulcan's equator, Sheldon said, "First, you have mixed quotes from  _Doctor Who_  with quotes from  _Star Trek_. Second, Nurse Chapel, you've gotten your lines wrong."

Amy smirked. "Well, Mr. Spock, from what I see, it looks like it doesn't matter to you in the least. Now get over here and ravish me."

Because she was right, Sheldon was next to her, holding her face, kissing her. His hand touched her breast, and he felt it respond beneath the blue uniform. "You're not wearing a bra."

"I thought that was point."

Because she was right, he rolled her over on her back and used both hands to caress her breasts. Then he snaked one of his hands down and toyed with the hem of her skirt that had been creeping upwards. "Nurse Chapel, this is not a regulation uniform. It is entirely too long. Additionally," his hand went under her skirt, and he followed the curve of her posterior upwards, "you're not wearing any underpants."

"I am certain we already decided that was the point."

He squeezed her firm bottom. "So, we'll be leaving this on?"

She stopped kissing his jaw. "I thought you would like it."

"Oh, I do. But you can't fool me," he touched her innermost place with his finger tips, and she gasped, "you like it, too."

Sheldon didn't let her respond. Instead he got up and pulled her toward to the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am certain we already decided that I would be on my knees." And then he was between her legs, and he lifted her vexing skirt and put his head under it. He heard her sexy laugh, and he quieted her by kissing her inner thigh. He had almost reached the apex when she bucked. Smiling to himself in the privacy of his blue tent, he said, "Patience, Nurse Chapel."

Then his started slowly kissing her other thigh, starting at her knee. He could hear Amy's deep breaths of anticipation, and the sound of them was almost too much to take. Even before he was half-way up her creamy skin, he took two fingers and slid them into her. She moaned. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," she moaned.

He found the spot he was looking for and pressed there. Her back arched off the bed. "Or this?"

"Yes, yes," she squealed.

He brought his lips and tongue to her sensitive knot of nerve endings for a kiss. She arched again, higher. "Or this?" And he kissed her there, again.

"Sheldon, dear Lord - I mean, Spock," she almost screamed at the end.

He took his lips away from her, although he kept his fingers inside of her, pressing, drawing, circling. "Now, now, I'm fairly certainly that was the most illogical thing you've ever said."

"You liked it," she panted.

Because she was right, so very right, he smiled again and buried his face back where it had been, deep within her skirt.

* * *

**_Oh, come on, you knew it was only a matter of time before that dress came out to play! Maybe I should have entitled this chapter The Cliche._ **


	26. Somewhere in Time

**_This was another wonderful book suggestion from AnotherBritFan. I hope you enjoy reading Book Club as much as I enjoyed reading the book._ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2016**

**Primary topic: _Somewhere in Time_ by Richard Matheson**

* * *

"Sheldon, you should take off your shoes, you look silly."

He looked over at Amy, lounging next to him in the breeze. "Maybe you look silly in those sunglasses and that hat."

"Sunglasses and a large-brimmed hat are appropriate items of beachwear. Socks and shoes with shorts are not."

"Let's add that to the reasons this a bad idea. It's bad enough you insisted we take a vacation, but apparently this vacation also requires us to engage in public nudity. I'm only wearing one shirt." His eyes raked over Amy, her feet and lower legs bare, her toenail polish a shockingly bright shade of fuchsia instead of her usual pale pink, and, most disturbing, her bare arms.  _She will be ogled everywhere we go!_ "Additionally, I did not put sunscreen on the soles of my feet, but the angle of the sun is such that I think they will get burned."

"Sheldon," Amy sighed and turned toward him, "are you going to be like this the entire time? May I remind you that you agreed to this trip?"

"It was the lesser of the evils on your list. At least we didn't have to fly to get here."

"I took your concerns into consideration. I didn't insist on the two-week literary tour of Great Britain. I think a long weekend in Coronado is a good compromise."

"If you had taken my concerns into consideration, I would be at work right now."

"I am not above calling a taxi to take you back to the train station this instant. You know you cannot be at work right now, you have to take your vacation time. We discussed this, you agreed to this, and I am going to enjoy relaxing and reading, with or without you." Then she hissed, "Do  _not_ make a scene."

"Give a woman a diamond ring and she expects a honeymoon," he grumbled.

"Sheldon Cooper!" In a flash, she swung her legs over in the small space between their chairs, her fist balled up.

_So much for not making a scene._  She tore her sunglasses off angrily, and then he saw it in her eyes. Hurt and the shiny wetness of almost tears, not just anger. A clutching pain gripped his chest. "I'm sorry, Amy. That was rude."

Her face and fist relaxed. "And cruel."

He nodded and reached out to brush her arm. "And cruel. And unworthy of you."

"Apology accepted." Amy nodded to him and swiveled back into her chaise lounge. She replaced her sunglasses and looked down at her book.

Sheldon tried to read himself, but he found the words just floating in front of him. The situation had been defused, but he hated that almost-fight tension that always lingered. Especially when he knew it was mostly - honestly, all - his fault.

He reached over for her hand, and she allowed him to take it. He dared a squeeze, and she returned the small gesture.

"Amy?" he ventured, timidly.

"Yes?" She looked up at him.

"I really am sorry. It was a horrible thing to say. It think it's the idleness. Which is not an excuse, I realize."

"I know you are. And did you look at your Kindle? I loaded it up for you. Not just novels. Lots of serious scholarly non-fiction, too."

"Actually, yes, I noticed on the train. Thank you. You made some excellent choices." He let go of her hand.

"I would tell you to enjoy the idleness and that vacations aren't about rules, but I don't think that would help you."

"Uh, no."

Now she smiled, and Sheldon instantly felt calmer.

"What do you think of it? Was it what you imagined?" she asked, turning slightly and waving her hand behind her.

He turned to look behind them at the grand structure with its distinctive red roof. "The Hotel del Coronado?"

"Yes, is it how you imagined it when you were reading?"

"Amy, are you trying to start Book Club Night in the afternoon instead of the night, as the name implies?"

She smirked a little. "Vacations aren't about rules, remember?"

Sheldon looked back at her. Even in her new sunglasses, too-revealing sundress and ridiculous hat, she was irresistible.  _What a strange power you hold over me, Amy Farrah Fowler._  He signed softly but mostly out of habit. "Okay, Book Club Night in the afternoon.  _Somewhere in Time_. I presume you picked it because of the location."

"Yes. I like to read books about the places I'm visiting. Not that I travel that much."

"Did you travel much before we met? You've never talked about it."

Amy shook her head. "No. Sometimes I'd have to go somewhere for a conference, but it's weird to travel by yourself. I guess I just assumed that if I met someone someday, we'd travel together."

He did not miss the slight wistfulness in her voice. Yes, this weekend was the least he could do for Amy. He said, "You didn't say whether the hotel looks like what you thought it would."

"Yes, it does, but then I did all the research and booked this little vacation. Maybe we can take the historical tour tomorrow or Sunday afternoon to see all the rooms mentioned in the book."

Sheldon could not think of a worse idea. Guided tours drove him absolutely insane: walking slowly with a group of strangers, no control over the path or speed or topics, inane questions that a koala could answer from said group of strangers.

"Okay, sure," he said. Amy smiled, and he knew the torture would be worth it. "Let me guess. You loved this book, because it's so romantic."

His wife tilted her head and pursed her lips. "Mmmm, yes and no."

"Really?" Sheldon chest sunk a little as he had been so certain he knew exactly what Amy would think of this book. To him, it was the definition of a romance novel. Amy would love it, surely? The longer he knew her, the less afraid she had been to display this side of her personality and, surprisingly, he found her sentimental nature endearing after a time. Not that he would ever tell her that.

"I agree it's a very romantic book. Even the language, the opening scenes just about the drive to San Diego and touring the Queen Mary, the words are very lyrical. The entire plot hinges on love at first sight, an all consuming love that overcomes any obstacle, that can't be contained even by time, so, yes, it's all very romantic."

"But?" he prompted.

"It's terribly unrealistic. The whole thing. The time travel, the way it's accomplished, that Elise is expecting Richard and why, how quickly she accepts him, the concept of love at first sight, all that happens in such a short time frame. It only takes place over two days."

Sheldon turned his face to look at the waves rolling up to the sand in front of them. "Yes, I agree. Terribly unrealistic."

"But?"

"No buts. Terribly unrealistic. Take the time travel, for example, it's not even based on science. It's some sort of psychological self-hypnotism nonsense. It's so ridiculous I can't even use science to refute it."

"But?"

He didn't answer right away; instead, he kept his face turned toward the ocean, listening to the sound of the sea, avoiding her gaze. _How did she know?_  He hoped she would grow tired of waiting for him to speak, but, the silence pulling between them, he recognized this tactic of Amy's. Unable to bear the force her patience any longer, he sighed softly. "'My mind tells me that you and I met for the first on the beach that night, that, until that moment, we were strangers. My mind me tells me that there is no reason for me to have behaved toward you as I have. No reason at all. And yet I do it. I want there to be distance between us. I want to not even see you clearly. The sight of your face - What I want to do is think. I thought I knew what kind of world it was. My world anyway. I thought I was adjusted to its every rhythm. Now this.'"

He stopped speaking and waited again. For what, he wasn't sure. A sarcastic remark? No, she wouldn't, not about this. Would she say something about how romantic it was? Possibly. He felt her hand rest on top of his.  _Of course._

"So you liked it. In spite of yourself."

Sheldon nodded deeply and swallowed away the emotion in his throat.  _Amy always understands me._  "It's well written. Things are explained . . . well."

He knew that, as a form of literary criticism, he statement lacked depth. But Amy would understand.

"It reminded you of the past," she said simply.

He turned to look at her again. This time she was gazing away from him, her own face watching the ocean. "Yes, of course it's the past. You do not doubt that."

Amy tilted her head and smiled softly. "No, I don't." He face changed, brightened. "Oh, I bookmarked something." She looked down at her Kindle, tapped a few times, and then read aloud, "'The miracle of what had taken place in my life now seemed balanced by the miracle of what had taken place in hers.'"

"We should have that carved into stone," he said it casually, playfully, his mind still firmly ensconced in the words of the book.

The look Amy gave to him almost suffocated him with love. He wondered, briefly, if she caught the reference, if she understood he was paraphrasing, but he did not care. He wanted her to look at him like that forever.

It was so strange that this book with weak poetry and even weaker science had such a profound effect on him. There was something there, in the conversation between Richard and Elise on the beach - this very beach! - that had clung to him in an indescribable way. Destiny versus coincidence. He had never believed in fate; but he found the idea of coincidence as the catalyst for all that had made him happy in his life overwhelming. Maybe it wasn't coincidence, really, as Howard and Raj had so carefully orchestrated the whole thing, but it took his breath away to think how very close he had been to never meeting Amy.

He was so pleased Amy had picked this book. He didn't doubt that she had picked it with their vacation destination in mind, but he also wondered if it was her way of telling him, yet again, how much she loved him. She was always finding ways to do that, subtle ways he didn't even notice until . . . He frowned. Amy had said she had put That Month behind her, that they should put it behind them, but he still found it had the power to shame him as nothing else ever had. She deserved so much more than he could give her.

"Sheldon? Did you hear me?"

He shuddered back to her ( _how very like the book!_ ), embarrassed to be caught thinking of something and not listening to her. Normally, that was one of Amy's weaknesses, not his.

"I was saying that my favorite scene is the one on the beach, when they went for the walk and sat on the bench. Even if the book is unrealistic, and certainly this scene is part of that, this scene feels committed to the plot. It abandons itself to the plot. I respect that. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Was there another scene you especially liked?"

"Not more than that scene," he replied but felt is his face flush.  _Drat._

Amy lowered her sunglasses, looked at him over the top, and cooed, "Dr. Cooper."

"Um, well, it's very well written. Not graphic, just. . ." he squirmed uncomfortably, "uh, accurate. Um, emotionally." He did not speak the quotation that was in his brain. Maybe later, he would whisper it to her. " _But it was only my final resistance to what I felt was coming; what I was afraid of; the release, through you, of everything I've hidden all these years."_

A satisfied smile on her lips, Amy pushed her sunglasses up her nose and sat back with what could only be described as pride. "You know, Sheldon, you may have changed my mind about this book. Maybe it's not too romantic after all. I mean, if it could stir up the great Sheldon Cooper, think of its hidden powers! Now I suppose it's unquestionable that if I were alive seventy-five years before you, you would study the theory of time travel instead of string theory, just so you could come back to find me."

_I'd devote my life to it._  He shook his head. "Amy, you are full of sentimental nonsense."

"It's one of the reasons you married me."

"No, it's . . . not," he ended weakly.

Amy laughed at that, and he loved the sound of her laughter spreading out over the ocean. Then she swung her legs toward the opposite side of her chaise, reaching into the bag she had brought.

"Amy, what are you doing?"

"Putting on my cardigan. It's cooler out here that I thought it would be."

"Well, it is November, even in San Diego." Sheldon leaned his head back in the lounge chair, smiled, and finally fully relaxed. How he loved her cardigans!


	27. Honeymoon

**Honeymoon (takes place 3 nights after _Somewhere in Time_ )**

* * *

_"Give a woman a diamond ring and she expects a honeymoon," he grumbled._

* * *

Amy sighed and rested her chin upon her palm, leaning against the railing of the balcony. The pose made her think of Juliet. She gazed out to the ocean, watching the sun slowly sinking over the water, the golden pink shimmers stretching out as far as her eyes could see. She thought it was beautiful. She thought her Romeo should join her to watch.

Speaking of Sheldon, what was he doing? He was making all sorts of racket behind her, in their hotel room.

"Sheldon, what are you doing? Come out here. I want to show you something," she called, turning to look at the open sliding door.

Sheldon's head popped out. "What is it? I'm not dressed."

She stood up straight and turned around fully. "You're not dressed? You look dressed."

"I'm not wearing any socks or shoes."

She rolled her eyes. "It's two or three steps at the most on the balcony. Come here, I want to show something."

He sighed but came over to stand next to her. "What?"

"Look at the sunset."

"What about it?"

"It's beautiful. I love how pink it looks."

"It only looks pink because the shorter wavelength components of sunlight scatter more strongly the long wavelengths, so the short wavelength colors of blue and green are removed from the beam leaving the long wavelength colors of red and pink."

Amy sighed again and resumed her Juliet pose. "I don't care. It's beautiful."

Sheldon leaned against the railing next to her and took her free hand in his. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips turning up slightly, charmed. Sheldon wasn't looking at her, he was watching the sunset.

"Amy, are you sad to be leaving tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. She said nothing else, enjoying the feel of his soft, warm hand surrounding hers.

After what she supposed was moment's reflection, Sheldon said, "Actually, me too."

Her heart started to glow along with the sunset. It wasn't just vindication she felt because she was right: Sheldon would enjoy a vacation if he would just allow himself to relax into it. She was glowing because it had been even more wonderful than she imagined. After his the first afternoon of grousing, he had been mostly tolerant of lying about and reading and sleeping in late. He agreed to stay up late, cuddling in bed, watching  _Somewhere in Time_ , although he had fallen asleep before it was over. This morning he had actually consented to room service and staying in bed to do the crossword puzzle together, even though Amy was the crossword puzzle fan. The best part was the way he had given her shoulder a bacon-scented kiss after every correct clue. True, despite Sheldon's snide comment on their first afternoon, it had not been a steamy sexcapade. They had made love, of course, more than once, but in their habitual and reassuring fashion. Which was, honestly, her favorite. And now here he was admitting he was sad to leave! On impulse, she reached over to kiss his cheek.

He looked at her and smiled. "Amy?"

"Yes?"

"Can I show you something now? Something I've been, uh, looking at for a while?"

Intrigued, Amy nodded.

He leaned down very, very close and whispered in her ear, "It's inside."

The combination of his breath and his almost-touching lips sent a shiver down her spine. Sheldon didn't let go of her hand as he led her back into the room, and shut the sliding door behind them.

She noticed it immediately. Sheldon had removed everything, including a rather large lamp, from the dresser in the room. Amy looked at him with a wrinkled brow, "Sheldon, what's going on?"

"So, this dresser, I like it."

"Oookay."

"I mean, I've thought about it, and it's a good height. We don't have anything this height at home."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "A good height?"

He nodded, his blue eyes blazing.

"What about the wall?" she asked, her body pulsing with excitement.

"If you recall, the stairwell is on the other side of that wall. Because I insisted on being close the fire escape. And, well, I've also determined it's very substantial piece of furniture."

"Have you now?"

He shrugged. "I'm more than just a pretty face."

Amy smiled. "How, exactly, does one definitively prove that a piece of furniture is substantial? Are you sure you've performed all the proper tests?"

"You make a valid argument. There is one test that I did not perform, because it involves two people."

"Two people?"

"Indeed." He raised one eyebrow.

Amy shook her head softly but couldn't keep from smirking. Sheldon smiled back. Finally, she threw up her free hand. "Well, are you going to help me up there or am I going to have to do it myself?"

In an instant, Sheldon's lips were on hers, his hands pulling up her sundress. They parted to take the dress over her head and he said, "I thought you'd never stop asking questions, woman."

Then his face was buried in her neck. Amy ran her hands under his shirts, feeling the warm smoothness of his skin. Again they separated just long enough to remove them. His beautiful chest now exposed, she leaned in to run her tongue over his nipples, swirling in a figure eight pattern. He shivered.

"Oh, Amy."

She pulled his head back down to her lips, and once he was firmly occupied there, she lowered her hands to his pants, releasing his belt. Slithering her hand inside of his briefs, she stroked him, lightly, before reaching for his waistband. His husky breath thrilled her. Meanwhile, he reached around behind her, unhooking her bra, running his hand over her newly available flesh. She paused with her hands still on his hips, leaning her forehead into him, as he circled, circled her own nipples.

"Oh, Sheldon."

Swiftly, she dropped along with his pants and briefs, bringing them down to his ankles so he could step out of them. She let her hands go to drop her bra on the floor next to them. On her way back up, she was inspired to take a risk. Without warning him, she passed her tongue up his shaft and across the tip of him.

"Amy!" He gripped her shoulders.

"Shhhhh," she whispered coming back up to look at his blue eyes. "That's all. Okay?"

He nodded. "It was . . . yes."

They smiled at each other before their mouths crashed together again, this time with Sheldon walking her backwards, supporting her and guiding her with his arms, his lips never leaving hers. She felt the edge of the dresser on her tailbone. In a surprising display of strength, Sheldon lifted her up in one agile, smooth motion. Amy yelped into his mouth.

"Are you okay?" he pulled away to ask.

"Very okay. Just surprised you were able to do that."

"I told you I'm more than a pretty face." His impish look, his single raised eyebrow,  _dear Lord,_ they almost killed her.

Before she has time to respond, her panties are off, flung away from them, in an equally spry move. Sheldon leaned in to her, her legs spreading to welcome him, his manhood rubbing against her.  _Oh, yes, this is a good height._

"Is this enough?" Sheldon whispered.

"Oh, yes."

As Amy threw her head back in pleasure, he started kissing her neck and collarbones, kneading her back with his palms, and the rocking motion sent bursts of electricity through her body.

"Yes."

_Hooooot, this is a great height._

"Yess."

She didn't even kiss him back, she just held onto his arms, rocking with him, feeling the pleasure pulsing ever stronger within her, as the firmest part of his body stroked the softest part of hers.

"Yesssss."

Just when she started to feel the tug in her stomach, the string pulling her body taut before releasing it completely, Sheldon pleaded into her ear, "Please, Amy, please."

Amy reached down to help Sheldon find where he wanted to be, and he filled her with himself, his breath hitching, before he resumed his undulation. She wrapped her legs around him, to bring him deeper, to encourage him to continue the rhythm he was using before. He ran his hand down the back of her thigh and pulled her left leg up higher. That sensation, his palm on her skin, in that place, drove her wild. He resumed his rocking, within her and around her, one hand holding up the back of her knee, the other on the back of her neck, bringing her closer to him and his lips.

Then it came, not surprising her at its swiftness given how close she was not so long ago, and it was one of those rare orgasms that seem to pause and shimmer on the edge of something else, the white-hot lightening bolt deep inside her blazing. She heard the trembling in her cry, forcing her eyes open to look at Sheldon, loving the way he watched her so closely.

No sooner had her own cry died in the air, then he dropped her leg and he wrapped his arms around her. His own head went back, he fingers clutched at the skin of her back, his upper lip quivered, and his eyes squeezed shut. His deep bellow filled her ears. It was one of Amy's favorite sights.

As he came down from his high, she leaved against his shoulder, and he hugged her even tighter. "I love you, Sheldon."

"I love you, too, Amy." He was breathless.

"And I really loved that."

"I thought it seemed like you did."

"I think it was the angle."

He kissed the top of her head, his breath calming. "Then we'll work to recreate it at home."

She pulled back slightly to look at him. "We? You're the physicist. I didn't marry you just for your pretty face, you know."

* * *

**_Again, my blushes!_ **


	28. The Green Mile

**_Home again . . ._ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2017**

**Primary topic: _The Green Mile_ by Stephen King**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The Other Typist_ by Suzanne Rindell**

* * *

"Laundry detergent?"

"Check."

"Fabric softener?"

"Check."

"FlipFold for my shirts?"

"Check."

"Bag of quarters?"

"Check."

"iPad?"

"Negative, captain."

Sheldon pivoted abruptly on the bottom step, his hands gripping an overflowing laundry basket. "Negative? Well, you'll just have to walk back up four flights of stairs to get it."

"No," Amy answered, sliding past him into the laundry room, "we should have Book Club instead. And then when the laundry is done and we go back upstairs, we can watch  _The Flash_."

Sheldon cocked his head as he walked in behind her and set the basket on the table. "I suppose that would work." He walked over to the washing machines, setting the dials to his exacting standards. "But Laundry Night takes an hour and a half on average. Do you think we have that much to say? Even our most verbose Book Clubs don't last that long."

"It's not like we ever run out of things to talk about, Sheldon. And  _The Green Mile_  is a long book with very deep themes." Amy started assisting him in loading the laundry, pushing the quarters into their slots, and starting the machines.

"Okay, but I reserve the right to say you I told you so. And you know the Ticket to Ride app just got an update. More train sounds!"

"Oh, if only I had known!"

"Sarcasm is not appreciated."

"I have to say, Sheldon, you're getting really good at detecting sarcasm." Amy walked over to take her usual spot sitting on the table.

"I am, aren't I?" Sheldon gave his catchy laugh as he came to join her and Amy smiled.

" _The Green Mile_. You know how this works, first you have to say why you picked it," she said.

"Because I've never read Stephen King, and he's considered one of our great contemporary American authors. But you don't like horror. I thought about  _11/22/63_  because it's got time travel, but we just read a time travel book. Supernatural murderers it is."

"Or not murderers."

"Or not murderers," Sheldon said in agreement.

"Did you enjoy your first foray into Stephen King?" Amy asked.

Sheldon nodded. "I did, mostly. I'm not so sure we needed the modern part, but it was okay. It was weird, though."

"How?" Amy looked down at her swinging feet and noticed, for the first time, the laundry room had a green linoleum floor. Yes, it was the perfect place for this Book Club.

"This is going to sound silly, but there were times I thought the book seemed slow but then it never felt slow. It always felt like it was building to something, that I was always waiting for something else to happen or be explained."

"Methodical tension that builds without your knowledge," Amy said. "I think you've just described one of the signs of a talented author. I was wondering if you would think Paul was too good of a character."

"Did you?"

"No. He's a good man, yes, but he still feels real. And he's not perfect. He's stubborn and maybe foolish."

"I think he had the worst job in the world. Nothing to do all day but watch men in cells. And try to get them to talk about their feelings!"

Amy smiled softly at Sheldon. "That's worse than having to put men to death?"

"No, it's not. You're right." Sheldon sighed. They broke eye contact and fell quiet.

"It was actually a pretty deep novel, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I'm glad you picked it, Sheldon."

"You liked it?"

"Yes. Also," she shrugged, "I like what you've been picking lately."

He looked at her, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Why? What do you mean?"

"I mean," Amy took a deep breath, "I never thought Book Club would last this long. Or be this deep."

"Really?"

"Really. I thought you would tire of it after a month or two. Or you'd only pick  _Doctor Who_  and  _Star Trek_ novels."

Sheldon looked at her softly. "But I love Book Club."

"I know you do. I'm not questioning that. Those were just my fears when we started." She shook her head slightly. "Anyway, back to the book. Did you find this book too spiritual for your tastes?"

"Spiritual? I didn't think it was religious at all. Paul even seems to mock the churches he went to as a child."

"I didn't say religious, I said spiritual. They're two different things."

Sheldon cocked his head slightly. "Expound."

"In my opinion, religious means exactly what you think it means. Church, piety, all of that. But to me something can be spiritual without being religious. Nature can spiritual, for example."

"Amy, you're not a creationist."

"No, of course not. I wouldn't even go so far as to say I believe in intelligent design. But I cannot completely rule out the possibility that something set a single action in motion." Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Sheldon, this is not new to you. I have always told you I'm not opposed to the concept of a deity."

"Yes, I know. But I think still sounds like religion to me."

Amy wrinkled her brow. This Book Club was turning out to be much more complex than she had predicted. Despite its heavy themes and occasional ghastly scenes _, The Green Mile_  was actually a gentle book, as still as the heat wave that permeated its pages. "Okay, I think we can both agree that religion is the act of worshiping a deity, or sometimes deities. There are a specific set of beliefs and very often rituals carried out with others who are also involved with those beliefs. Correct?"

"I concur."

"I think that something being spiritual is more personal than that. Spiritual is a feeling that maybe there is something greater than just a moment or a place or an event. The idea that maybe we are just a little piece of a much larger puzzle."

"That's called cosmology."

"Okay, yes, I think there are some similarities. Cosmology is the study of the universe in terms of where it started and where it's going, right?"

"In very simplest terms, yes."

"So maybe cosmology is the meeting of physics and spiritualism," Amy ventured timidly.

Sheldon nodded. "Mythological cosmology. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. Applying philosophical methods to address questions that are considered beyond the scope of science."

"Exactly!" Amy smiled. "So you don't think I'm crazy?"

"I've never thought you were crazy. I'd never considered cosmology in quite that way before. Of course, I'm familiar with the concept of mythological cosmology, but I've never studied it. It's an intriguing question, the difference between that and spirituality. I have to say, Amy, you've given me something to think about the next time the cafeteria conversation isn't meeting my intellectual needs. As in tomorrow."

Amy turned slightly on the table. "I think we got off topic. We're supposed to talking about  _The Green Mile_."

"We were. There are certainly elements here that are beyond the scope of science. Regardless of what one calls them."

"Indeed. Do you believe that John Coffey really could do those things?"

Sheldon's eyebrows sank. "I don't understand the question."

"Certainly you don't believe that someone can be healed of any physical problem just by touching another person."

"No, of course not. But Paul does in the book, so I believe John Coffey could do it." Sheldon gave the not-quite-a-shrug gesture in his shoulders that implied he had just said the most obvious thing in the world.

"What you mean?"

"Paul is the narrator and thus the protagonist. He believes something, so we believe it, too. Even if we wouldn't outside of this book. This is his story, so we believe him. When you read, or even escape to your imagination, you have to leave the world you knew behind. You have to embrace the world and the rules that are being presented to you. Of course, some worlds are created in a more believable fashion than others; that's another sign of a talented author, yes?"

Amy smiled at the simplicity and truthfulness of Sheldon's statement. It wasn't, of course, a new concept to her, having been an avid reader for years. She was certain it wasn't a novel idea to Sheldon, either, who she knew had escaped into the worlds created by Tolkien and Lewis and Rowling long before she met him. But she loved hearing him say it, hearing him articulate it so well. This was exactly what she loved so much about Book Club, exactly what she had wanted from Book Club. She knew she had it in abundance.  _I love him so much._  "Yes. I take it you've never read a book with an unreliable narrator."

"I guess not."

"It was all the rage in modern literature a couple of years ago. I read a really good one, what was it?  _The Other Typist_ , I think. I'm not sure you would like it."

"Maybe we'll read it some day."

The laundry room filled with one of those lulls in almost every conversation. Not an uncomfortable silence, just a pause for gathering one's thoughts. Amy swung her feet absent-mindedly from the table.

"What's your opinion on the death penalty?" Amy asked.

"I don't have one."

"What? What do you mean you don't have one?" Amy was fairly certain Sheldon had an opinion on everything under the sun.

"Just what I said: I don't have an opinion. I doesn't impact me. I don't think about it."

"Sheldon!"

"What?"

"It's a very important topic, discussed on a national scale."

"Yes, but why should I personally have an opinion?"

"Uh . . .um." Amy furrowed her brow. "Well, uh . . ." She lowered her eyes and waited for the sharp comment Sheldon was about to give, embarrassed that she couldn't, at the moment, think of a single thing to say.

Instead, she felt him take her hand. "Amy? I'm not mad you."

"No, I know." She looked up at him to notice that he had turned his head away, looking off in the middle distance.

"Growing up in a religious household," he said, "I heard far more about certain moral dilemmas than I cared to and probably at too young of an age. So, yes, obviously, the idea and the quandary of the death penalty have crossed my mind. 'Eye for an eye' might as well be the Texas state motto. But, as I got older . . ." he sighed deeply. "Let's just say I've argued far too often with my mother about things that, really, neither one of us had much control over. I just decided not to dwell on them, to avoid conversations about those things. Life would be easier if it were like a geometric proof, but it's not."

Amy nodded even though he wasn't watching her. He sighed again and looked back at her. "Are you disappointed in me? Do you think I live an unexamined life? If it's important to you, we can discuss it. But I really don't want to."

"Do you think we'd argue?"

"No." He squeezed her hand. Then he sat up straighter, dropped her hand, and the delicate balance dissolved. "I was thinking we could go to the zoo this weekend. It's been awhile."

"Maybe Sunday. We're babysitting Jacob on Saturday while Howard and Bernadette move into their house, remember? He's still young for the zoo."

"Why is everything always changing?" Sheldon grumbled.

"Things change, Sheldon, whether you like it or not. People grow up, get married, have babies, move to bigger houses."

"Well, we wouldn't move. We'd just make room for a baby. Nothing will make me leave this apartment. It took me forever to find just the right one!"

Amy inhaled sharply but immediately regretted it. Fortunately, one of the washing machines went off at the same time, and Sheldon got up to move the clothes to a dryer, seemingly oblivious. He had said, months ago, in that bittersweet week of healing, when she had told him with a quivering voice about the secret growing in her heart, that he would think about it. And then he never said anything else, not one word since. She was being patient; this was Sheldon, who took over three years to kiss her, after all. But she was also worried about time; she was not growing younger.

"See, I told you so. We should have brought the iPad so we could play a game," Sheldon said, as the dryer started, interrupting her thoughts.

"We could play seven minutes in heaven," Amy smirked, "culminating in second base."He turned to her sharply. "No."

"Why not?"

"The laundry room is a public place. Someone could just walk in and see us."

"That didn't stop you from kissing me here once before."

Sheldon blushed. "Uh, well, yes. I may have gotten carried away. But it was not seven minutes! Or second base!"

"Sadly, no. But we could do it that way now. Actually, we could swing for the fences."

"Swing for the fences?"

"A home run, Sheldon."

"Oh! No, Amy, we'll never do that here. As I pointed out already, it's a public place. That is non-negotiable." He crossed his arms.

Amy just looked back at him. Did he realize that when he said "non-negotiable," she heard "challenge me?" No, he most certainly did not. But she would not challenge him tonight; she would think about the best approach. It wasn't like the laundry room was going to go anywhere. As he had reminded her, she knew from the moment she had moved in that they would be visiting this laundry room once a week until they were too old and feeble to climb the stairs, so she had a lifetime to succeed.

"Okay." She shrugged. Then she got up to move another load of clothes. "What do you think will happen on _The Flash_  tonight? I think . . ."


	29. Seven Minutes in Heaven

_**Seven Minutes in Heaven** _

* * *

_"We could play seven minutes in heaven," Amy smirked._

_He turned to her sharply. "No."_

_"Why not?"_

_"The laundry room is a public place. Someone could just walk in and see us."_

_"That didn't stop you from kissing me here once before."_

_Sheldon blushed. "Uh, well, yes. I may have gotten carried away. But it was not seven minutes!"_

* * *

They had just gotten into bed, when Sheldon said to Amy, even before they relaxed back into their pillows, "I've been thinking about what you proposed in the laundry room."

Amy turned to him with a smirk. "And?"

"No, Amy, it's still non-negotiable. However, it occurred to me that perhaps the fascination you have with the laundry room is because of what once happened there."

"And what was that?" She wasn't even trying to appear innocent, with her smirking and her twinkling.

_She drives me wild with her vixen ways!_  "Well, as I'm sure you remember, it was where we first, uh, knew each other in the French fashion."

Amy chuckled. "My, how formal we are tonight!"

"You know what I mean. And thinking about that made me think about, well, the  _Kuma Sutra_."

"You have my full attention, Dr. Cooper."

"There's a chapter on kissing in the  _Kuma Sutra_ , yes?" He asked, moving slowly closer to her.

"Yeeees . . ."

"Because the Indians have all sorts of kisses." He barely touched her lips with his. "For example, the nominal kiss."

Amy smiled.

He kissed her again, more firmly, and moved his lips against hers. "The throbbing kiss."

Amy raised her eyebrows by didn't comment.

Another kiss, tracing her lower lip with his tongue. "The touching kiss."

He brought his hand up behind her neck and bent her back slightly. "The bent kiss."

"Mmmmmm . . ."

His other hand came up to hold her chin and turn her face. "A turned kiss."

The he kissed her with enough force she leaned back further on her own. "A pressed kiss."

"It's odd though, isn't it, that those are the only kisses listed?" He looked straight into Amy's green eyes as she watched him searchingly. "Maybe a French person hadn't made it to India yet."

And he lowered her down further, until she was on her back, exploring her mouth with his tongue, reveling in her kiss. He never got tired of kissing her like this. He loved how her mouth tasted. As illogical as it was, it tasted hot. Yes, hot. And soft. A little briny. And, before bed like this, with a hint of mint toothpaste still on her breath. He hated breaking away from it.

"Even the Eskimos have a special kiss." He rubbed his nose against hers. "But, as homo novus, shouldn't we have our own kiss? Maybe something even better than the kiss in the laundry room?"

Amy's smirk reached all the way to her eyes. "What do you propose, Dr. Cooper?"

"Well, as scientists, I suggest we study the possibilities. For example . . ." He kissed the tip of her nose. "The flag kiss."

"The flag kiss?"

"Shhhh, I'm giving a lecture." She raised her eyebrows again, and his kissed one to tame it. "The arch kiss."

Feathery kisses along her cheekbone. "The crest kiss."

She closed her eyes and smiled. He took advantage to kiss her eyelid. "The emerald kiss."

In the middle of her forehead. "Genius kiss."

On her temple, caressing her hair. "Mud kiss."

"Mud!" She opened her eyes.

"Uh . . . chocolate?"

She nodded. "Carry on."

Along the curvature of her ear. "Seashell kisses."

He took her earlobe in his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. He was rewarded with a moan and the deepening of her breath. "Velvet kiss."

The indentation in her neck, over her carotid artery. "Pulse kiss."

On her delicate Adam's apple. "The Macintosh."

Amy giggled.

"Dr. Fowler, this is a serious scientific instruction." He kissed her there again.

"Yes, yes, I'll be good." She closed her eyes again.

"Pay attention, there will be a test later." Her suprasternal notch, which he lapped with his tongue eliciting another moan. "Thirst."

Along her right collarbone. "Mmmm . . . river kisses."

Amy smiled. She remembered.

Between her breasts. "The valley."

Slowly up the side of her left breast. "The snowcap."

He ran his tongue over her nipple, and she arched off the bed. "The ruby." He did it again. "No, I stand corrected." He repeated his actions for her other nipple. "Rubies. Definitely plural."

Sheldon eyed it first, the perfectly round and very dark freckle under her right breast. He had never found freckles sexy until this one. He kissed it. "The secret."

Down the middle of her stomach almost to her belly button, open mouthed and very sloppy. "The savannah."

He paused. He knew where he wanted to kiss next, but he was a little worried about what Amy would think. He loved this part of her, the cushiony softness, the feminine allure. But he had always thought it was an area women were very sensitive about. Very gently he kissed the pouch of flesh that was her lower stomach. "Perfection."

A kiss on her dark curls made Amy's breath hitch. "Proximate."

Putting his hand between her legs and over her mound, he said, "Now this kiss. That's a lesson for another day." He slid a finger into her dewy folds, and her breath caught again. "Pop quiz time."

"Sheldon." She looked at him, pleasure already washing over her face.

He raised an eyebrow before kissing half-way between her navel and her breasts. He paused, looking up at her.

She swallowed for air. "Savannah."

Her rounded tummy. She didn't respond. He stopped moving his finger. "Say it."

"Perfection. Don't stop!"

Her collarbone.

"Hooot, hoooo, river."

Between her breasts. "Yesssss, right there."

"Right where?"

"Jesus, Sheldon, the valley."

He smiled and kissed her freckle. Her hips had started shifting. "Uhhhhh, mmmmmmm, the secret."

The outside of her ear. "Ohhhh, yesss, the seashell?"

"You don't sound very certain."

"Hoooooooo, certain."

Her earlobe, with long and soft and very wet ardor. "Shelllllldon."

He whispered into to ear, "Say it."

"Velvet, oh yes!"

Her suprasternal notch. "Ohhhhhhhh, God - I - don't - know - the - drink?"

"Incorrect, Dr. Fowler. But, I think, very, very close." Her stomach muscles contracted and her hands clawed for him. And she took her sharp breaths.

"Yessssssssssss, oh, yessssssss!"

He reveled in the sight of her climaxing, a satisfied grin his face. The way her body arched and pulse, her legs stiffened, her neck elongated, even her scent changed: it was one of his favorite sights. She came down, gasping for air.

"I have very strict standards for my pupils, Dr. Fowler. I think we'll have to do that until you receive a perfect score."

He kissed her forehead, starting his attentions again.

"Genius," it came out with Amy's deep breath.

Her throat. "Pulssssse."

Her earlobe agin. "Ohhhhhh, mmmmmmm, velvet!"

Her hardened nipple, wet with his whole mouth, teasing, pulling. "Yessssssss - ruby - rubies!"

Gently into her hair as her hand clenched his arm again. "Sheldonnnnnnnnn!"

Again: always faster, always shorter, always just as bewitching. However, not wanting to kill his wife, he stopped as her lungs truly seemed to be heaving for air. He rested his palm on her stomach and leaned down to give her three bent kisses. She smiled at him, breathing hard.

"I think," he said, "maybe we should retest on a later date."

"Yes," Amy swallowed hard, "because -" she gripped his shoulders and forced him to roll on his back - "it's my turn to teach you a lesson, Dr. Cooper. I seem to recall a chapter on love bites."

* * *

_**Thank you for your reviews!** _


	30. Year Two

**...**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Two**

* * *

It was her mother, as it so often had been her entire life, that put the seed of doubt into Amy's head. Amy was engaged in her obligatory monthly Skype call. Sheldon had already left the room after lying about how good it was to see his mother-in-law and saying, as he always did, "I'll leave you two ladies to catch up," before running away.

"Your anniversary is coming up. Have your selected your gift yet?" Mother asked.

"No. Sheldon and I haven't discussed if we're exchanging gifts," Amy replied. She was considering suggesting no gifts to him. He hated presents; and, after the wonderful gift Sheldon had given her last year, she thought she may never need another gift from him as long as she lived.

"Do you have any ideas? Do you need my help again this year?"

Amy frowned. That was not how it had happened. She already knew what she was getting Sheldon last year when she told her mother about it - and then only because she was grasping for topics of conversation - and her mother had disagreed on the engraving. "Just a series of numbers? That's too obscure. The average person will not understand that."

"This is not a gift for an average person, Mother. This is a gift for Sheldon," Amy had rebutted, and that had been end of the discussion.

"No, thank you, I'll think of something," Amy quickly replied this year.

"Let's think about this. I believe that the second anniversary is cotton or china. What could you get that is cotton or china?" her mother persisted.

"Mother, even if we do exchange gifts, we're not going to adhere to the traditional anniversary gift schedule."

"But you already have. You gave him a watch, which is really a small clock, and what was it he gave you, dear? A book or something? You were vague. Anyway, it was paper, was it not?"

"Yes, I suppose it was," Amy mumbled.

"Oh, I know just the thing! Nordstrom has the most lovely 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Very high quality, you could use them forever. You could have a set embroidered with your monogram." Then her mother paused and frowned. "But you refused to change your name, so I'm not sure what your monogram would look like."

That was not how that had happened either. But Amy was tired of telling her mother that she had not refused to change her name. She just hadn't, because neither she or Sheldon saw the need. And the idea of giving Sheldon something with "their monogram" on it almost made her laugh. Instead, she took drink of tea to otherwise engage her mouth.

"Well, it doesn't matter. After two years, you're officially not newlyweds anymore, so perhaps the sheets aren't important."

Amy almost spit out her tea. "What?"

"Really, dear, you should not drink tea while hunched over like that. It seems I will forever be reminding you to sit up straighter. I was just pointing out that sheets are not so important after the second anniversary, when the . . . newlywed . . . phase has passed."

A smart retort on her tongue, Amy bit it back. ( _How would you know anything about marriage?_ But that would be going too far, the wound would be too deep.) More concerning, though, Amy could not decide which was worse: that her mother had just referenced her sex life, however obliquely, or that her mother thought it would be drying up like a prune. And why did it bother her so much that she officially wouldn't be a newlywed anymore?

* * *

She heard him coming down the hall, which made her realize she was frowning, and she quickly changed her expression. At first, she was pleased to see them arranged on her side of the island in a perfect square, thrilled with what appeared to be a new tradition:

"I love you more than Henry loved Cat."  
"I love you more than Darcy loved Elizabeth."  
"I love you more than Le Petit Prince loved his rose."  
"I love you more than Dorian Gray loved himself."  
"I love you more than Richard loved Elise."  
"I love you more than Paul loved dignity."

But then, without her consent or desire, her mother's words came back to her.  _Why are they in a square this year? Why are they not scattered through the apartment, in a sort of savager hunt?_ Did Sheldon think their love life would turn out to be square? Was it no longer a treasure worth seeking?

_No, no, I am being ridiculous. I should not let my mother get to me like this. I am reading too much into this sweet gesture of love. Obviously Sheldon couldn't mean anything by it; I didn't even tell him about that part of the conversation. I should be thrilled. Sheldon used to hate Valentine's Day, now he does this for me. Books, Valentine's Day, his love . . . what more could I ask for?_

"Amy?" Sheldon's voice shattered her bubble.

"Oh, good morning. Thank you for my notes," she smiled at him.

"What's wrong? Did I get one wrong?" he asked, his face covered in confusion.

"Nothing's wrong. I just . . . I don't remember us using the word dignity when we discussed _The Green Mile_ ," she said quickly.

"I thought of it later, when I was analyzing Book Club in my mind. Maybe I should have brought it up again."

"I like that you ruminate on Book Club even after its over." This time her smile was sincere, and Sheldon smiled back.

"Of course I ruminate on it. You always say something interesting I haven't thought of before, and I need to give your ideas my full consideration."

Amy reached up for his face, and he met her halfway. Their lips brushed softly together, and then Amy thought about brushing the rest of his skin, and she pulled him in deeper. He allowed it for a bit, but then he broke away.

"If you keep that up, we'll be late for work," he said.

"That was the point. We were late last Valentine's Day . . ." she murmured softly.

"Oh, no, little lady, I've got important things to do today." He broke away from her to get the box of Honey Nut Cheerios. "Besides, we're not sex crazed newlyweds anymore."

It was like a thunder clap in her brain.

* * *

There was strange kicking sound at the door, and Amy opened it to find Sheldon's arms full with a box, the rest of the mail perched on top.

"Thanks," he said. "It looks like it's from your mother."

Amy sighed. "It's sheets."

"How do you know?" Sheldon asked, sitting the box down on the coffee table.

"I just do," Amy took the scissors he offered and carefully opened the package. She was right. A set of pristine white sheets. She took out a pillow case. Her mother was right: these were the softest sheets she had ever felt.

"What's this?" Sheldon asked, reaching out for the opposite end.

"Oh, no," Amy groaned. "Let me guess: ACS in a swirly font."

"No," Sheldon lifted it up for her to see. "FC" in, she was pleased to see, Copperplate.

"It's our monogram. I'm sorry," she said.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because it's a monogram. You, especially, are not a monogram person."

Sheldon shrugged. "But your mother is. It's not so bad. At least it's a practical gift. Not like last year's."

Oh, last year's gift. Just as expensive, just as proper, but, yes, completely useless. Who had all their photos printed into 4x6 prints anymore? She had only printed Raj's wedding photo to put on her desk. And, of course, Sheldon never took photos. So the expensive leather bound photo album with gold gilt lettering sat empty on their bookshelf, never opened.

"Here," Sheldon said. "Give them to me. I'll put them in the hamper for Laundry Night. Your mother will kill you if you don't write a thank-you card right away."

Amy sighed once more before going to her desk and taking out the notecards with her monogram on the front. A gift from her mother. Of course.

* * *

She shifted on the sofa, her neck bothering her, not wanting to move Sheldon's arm. But it was too much, and he took his arm away. Then he picked up the remote and paused the movie.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I just can't get comfortable," Amy answered.

"I meant in general. Did you change your mind? Do you really want to get dressed up and go out to that French restaurant Raj told us about?"

"No, I'm fine. You would have hated it," she said.

"Amy, I would not have hated it. Not aloud. It's our second anniversary. It doesn't seem fair to you to stay in and watch a movie; especially since we just did this for Valentine's Day. You love going out to eat at fancy places."

"We already ate. It's fine," she looked away.

He sat up straighter. "In my two years of marriage, I have learned that when you say something is fine it is most certainly not fine. What's going on? Something has been bothering you all week. You even said you didn't want an anniversary present! Are you still mad about the sheets your mother sent? I told you, I don't mind the monogram. Tell me what's wrong. This is supposed to be a happy day."

"I'm worried that we're not newlyweds anymore, that the spark will go out," Amy blurted. "There, I said it, it's stupid, you can mock me now."

Sheldon turned off the television and turned on the sofa. "What are you talking about? What spark? Why should I mock you?"

"Traditionally, a couple is only considered to be newlyweds the first two years of marriage. So the honeymoon is over."

"Say's who?"

"My mother," she mumbled. Then, just as Sheldon's face was contorting into anger, she added, "And, well, you said it the other morning."

His mouth gaped open, and she saw his mental playback. "Oh . . . Amy . . . I . . . I didn't mean it. I was trying to be funny."

"I know! That's the worst part! I know it was just a silly little comment, but it's been bothering me! Because my mother basically said the same thing the day before."

"Let's leave your mother out of this. She knows absolutely nothing about our marriage. I don't care what she thinks. But you . . . I care very much about what you think." He swallowed. "Is this about love or sex?"

Amy shrugged. "I'm not sure."

He cocked his head. "It doesn't matter." He reached for her face. "Listen to me. I love you, Amy. I love you more today than that day we went to the courthouse together. I desire you more today than that day you dropped your Chapstick and I took you to bed. No one will ever change that, will ever take that away from us. Unless we let them. And nobody takes something from Sheldon Cooper without his consent."

Amy leaned in and put her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. She felt stupid and foolish. She knew she was the luckiest woman in the world. Not only had the incomparable Sheldon Cooper chosen her to be his mate, but she was always thrilled to find the glimpses of a romantic soul lurking behind his gorgeous blue eyes and deep inside his brilliant mind. "I'm sorry, Sheldon. I've been a fool."

"Shhh, that's enough. Yes, you've been fool, but you're my fool. And it's over." He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. "Well, it's earlier than I planned, but I have a surprise for you."

She sat back. "A surprise?"

"I decided on a gift for you before you said no anniversary presents."

"Oh, Sheldon, I really didn't get you anything. Please, save it for my birthday."

"Don't worry, it's a tiny thing. And," he grinned, "I am definitely not waiting until your birthday." He let go of her. "Wait here." He scrambled off the sofa and down the hallway.

Amy sat and waited. And waited. And waited. "Sheldon?" she called after what she thought had been a very long time.

"It's ready now!" his voice called back.

She waited a couple of more moments. "Where are you? What's going on?"

"Come back here. It's in the bedroom!"

Amy's eyebrows rose, and she was already smirking long before she opened the bedroom door. And then she burst out laughing.

"Don't laugh! I already feel ridiculous! It seemed like a good idea at the time . . ." Sheldon said, grabbing a sheet to cover his naked body. Well, not completely naked; he was wearing a red bowtie around his neck.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself," Amy said, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. "What is this?"

He shrugged and blushed. "You like it when I wear bow ties. And I looked it up, year two is fabric. This is the bowtie I wore when I went as the The Doctor for Halloween. And there's James Bond . . . you always like him."

"I do, I do. I just didn't expect that! At first, I thought you looked like a Chippendale," she giggled again at the thought.

"You thought I looked like one of the chipmunks in  _Rescue Rangers_?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

She laughed again, and then jumped on the bed over him. "I love laughing with you, Sheldon."

"It felt more like laughing at me," he said, but she saw the glint in his eyes.

Amy kissed him, and it quickly deepened. Her lips left his and she left a trail of kisses on the way to his ear, where she said, "Nothing will ever take this from us." Then she whispered for the second time in a week, "I love you and you make me glow with incandescence and you are an unsolvable puzzle and I cannot resist that and I want to unlock you every day for the rest of my life . . ."

Then she took him there, in that ludicrous bowtie, on those expensive monogramed sheets, brushing his skin with such ferocity it surprised even her.

* * *

_**Thank you for your reviews!** _


	31. The Hobbit

**_..._ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2017**

**Primary Topic: _The Hobbit_  by J. R. R. Tolkien**

* * *

"Cooper! I'm surprised you're still here."

Sheldon felt the familiar tightness in the back of his neck. He didn't turn around. "If you must know, both Dr. Fowler and I needed to work late this evening. I don't know why two geniuses doing genius-level work in the evening is surprising."

"What I meant," Barry Kripke said, "is that I'm surprised you aren't at home, cowered in the fetal position given all the seismic activity today."

"Why would I cower from seismic activity?" Unfortunately, just at that moment, the ground rumbled beneath him, and his hand involuntarily gripped the edge of his white board.

Kripke chuckled. "It looks like you're pretty terrified to me."

Sheldon refused to dignify that with a response.

"Seriously, Cooper, aren't you reading your alert texts from the Geology department? Or the email President Siebert just put out? You should go home."

Turning around at last, Sheldon said, "I blocked all texts from the Geology department years ago. I have no use for them. And I don't read pointless emails when I'm concentrating."

"You can be such a pompous ass, you know that? But, since I need you alive in order to beat you to the Nobel Prize someday, I'll tell you what they said. All this seismic activity today? The Geology department thinks it's either an earthquake swarm or even foreshocks. You know, before the big one. The Pres is encouraging everyone to go home and shelter in place. So is the mayor, by the way. It's like a ghost town. Do you also ignore the news?"

"I assure you, I have lived in southern California for many years. I am not frightened of a few extra seismic events." It was Sheldon's worst lie ever. And he knew it. He decided to try to recover using facts. "Additionally, the Caltech Emergency Notification System is not blocked on my phone, and it has not gone off yet."

Kripke narrowed his eyes at him for a minute. Then he shrugged. "Whatever, Cooper. Suit yourself. I'm leaving." Walking away from Sheldon's office door, he added, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Sheldon sighed heavily. He turned back to his whiteboard. His concentration was lost. Should he call Amy and tell her they needed to go home? But surely these large, stone buildings were a better place to be than four stories high in the event of a significant earthquake. He shuddered at the thought. But at home he had his earthquake supplies, the kit he had made years ago. On the other hand, Amy hadn't called or texted him; she wasn't scared, it seemed. He sighed again, uncertainly increasing his tension. He took his phone out to read his emails, but then decided to take a picture of his whiteboard instead. Just in case. Then went to his desk to start packing up his bag. Yes, he decided, he would go get Amy and ask her to leave early. He picked up his phone again, ignoring his emails, and sent her a text.

Exiting his building, dusk rapidly falling, he remembered what Amy had told him. She was going to be in a different lab today working with a colleague on an experiment. It was the reason she had needed extra time at work, because of the timing of the experiment. His mind flew over his mental map of Caltech, deciding on the most direct route.

He was just climbing the stairs to what he presumed was the correct door when the Earth broke open and everything shook violently around him. He threw his hand out to grab the handrail or anything at all, but he fell sideways on the stairs. A sharp pain flashed up his leg from his ankle. He wasn't really sure what was happening, but he somehow tumbled down the short staircase. A smaller, less sharp pain came from his left palm. Lying on the still moving ground, dazed, he look down at his hand and saw the cut already bleeding profusely.

His world went black, but not before a single word crossed his mind. Amy.

* * *

He awoke to the strange weakness that always happened after he passed out. For a second, before he opened his eyes, he tried to believe it had been a dream. But the sound of sirens in the distance and pain in his ankle told him otherwise. There was also the blaring of the Caltech Emergency Notification System coming from somewhere.  _Amy._

His eyes fluttered open, expecting to see crumbled buildings all around him. But, reassuringly, everything seemed to be standing with the exception of a couple of toppled light poles and benches and some shattered windows. So, it wasn't the big one, after all. Perhaps just a moderate earthquake. It was dark, though, much darker than it normally was on campus. The power was out. Just the emergency lights were on, no doubt powered by a generator.  _How long have I been lying here?_ He realized no one had found him because everyone was at home, sheltering in place, as instructed. Only two people knew where he was and Kripke had gone home. _Amy._

He had to find Amy. He sat up, shaky and weak, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. No signal. He almost screamed.  _Amy._

Gritting his teeth, he tried to stand, but he collapsed the minute he put any weight on his foot, almost passing out again. Sitting, he pulled his knee up to his chest. He felt his ankle. It didn't seem broken, he thought. But definitely starting to swell. Somehow, he had managed to forget about the cut on his hand, but the sight of blood smeared on his ankle reminded him. He passed out again.  _Amy._

* * *

"Cooper! Cooper! Wake up, man!"

Sheldon's eyelids snapped open.  _Amy._

But, of course, it wasn't Amy's face above him. "Kripke."

"Thank God! I thought I was going to have give you mouth-to-mouth. After I walked all over looking for you!"

Sheldon tried to sit up, and Kripke helped pulled him upright. "What happened?"

"Seriously, Cooper? Did you hit your head, too? It was an earthquake." As if to emphasize his point, the ground rumbled slightly. Sheldon was embarrassed to find himself gripping Kripke's hand tighter.

"But . . ." The rumbling had stopped, and he dropped the hand like it was on fire.  _Amy._

Kripke stood up. "Yea, not really a big one. Although, like half of L.A. is on fire. You can see the smoke if you look south. Come on, let's go. We're all supposed to report to the student health center or Brown Gym. Which you would know if you read your emails. No one is allowed to leave yet, police order or Marshall law or something like that."

"I have to find Amy first," he said, looking at Kripke towering about him.

"She's already there. I saw her myself."

Sheldon furrowed his brow. "Then why didn't she come with you to find me? I don't understand."

Barry Kripke squatted down again. "Okay, Cooper, listen to me. I need you to start breathing. Big, slow breaths."

Something in Kripke's tone terrified Sheldon. He wanted to ask why, but his mouth felt like cotton. He started breathing in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. He did it twice while willing Kripke to speak with his eyes.  _Amy!_

"Okay, good, keep that up. Listen, Sheldon, don't freak out on me. Amy's been injured." The familiar black tunnel started on the edge of Sheldon's vision. Kripke reached out and grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Stay with me! Not badly! I promise! But she couldn't walk here. Do you understand?"

Sheldon found the strength to nod. Kripke was still holding his shoulders, and he realized Kripke was breathing along with him.  _Amy._

"Cooper? Are you ready? I'll take you to her."

Sheldon shook his head.

"I can't," he managed between breathes, his chest squeezing painfully. He pointed down to his ankle.

Kripke let go of him and looked down. "Is it broken?"

"No, I don't think so. I think it's just a sprain or a pull. And I cut my hand on something."

"Okay, then. Do you think you could walk leaning against me? If not, I'll walk back myself and see what to do, what the plan is."

"No! Don't leave!" The force of the yell surprised even Sheldon. "I can't wait. I have to see Amy. Let's go."

With difficulty, neither of them being athletic, they managed to get Sheldon standing, leaning heavily on the shorter Kripke.

"You owe me big time, Cooper," he said, and then they were off, slowing walking and hopping south toward the student health center. They didn't speak, the physical effort was too great. Not that it mattered to Sheldon, whose only thought, in time with his rapid heart beat was Am-y, Am-y, Am-y. He blocked out the pain and embarrassment. He blocked out the sound of sirens.

He blocked out the sight of the smoke further south, yes, but also rising over Los Robles Avenue.

Finally, after what felt like hours even though Sheldon knew it wasn't even close to that, they arrived, Kripke pushing open the doors of the health center. If Sheldon had the thought campus was eerily quiet, all was noise and chaos in the small reception area.  _Amy._

Fortunately, Nurse Patel, whom he knew well from his frequent visits, was there and she came straight over to them. "Dr. Cooper, are you injured? What's wrong?"

"Amy," was all Sheldon said.

"Yes, Dr. Fowler, is here, but I'm asking about you. You appear to be injured. Is it your leg?"

"I just want to know about Amy!"

"Dr. Cooper, do not get angry. Now is not the time. You may not have noticed, but we have a bit of a crisis on our hands, although thankfully not as bad as it could be, and I have priorities other than you right now. Either allow me triage you or sit down."

Before Sheldon could reply, Kripke spoke, "Listen, I'll take him to Amy. And he sprained his ankle. Let me get him out of your hair."

Nurse Patel frowned but nodded. "She's down the hall, in room eight. She'd on the list for transport to the hospital, but ambulances are a problem right now."

"Hospital! Ambulance! Kripke you told me it wasn't bad!" Sheldon's chest squeezed again, his breath shallowed, and blackness danced along the periphery of his visual field.

"Dr. Cooper, start breathing! Look at me!" Nurse Patel touched his arm.

Sheldon looked at her. "Dr. Fowler has suffered what appears to be a mild head injury. However, she probably has a concussion. She'll be fine, but she's a bit out of it. The hospital is the standard evacuation plan for anyone with a head injury. Do you understand?" Sheldon nodded. "When you get there, talk to her. Keep her mind occupied, even if she doesn't respond, okay?"

Then she nodded to Kripke, who started almost pulling Sheldon down the hallway. Sheldon had a thousand thoughts at the same time. Amy! Would she live? Would she be okay? What if she had permanent brain damage? What if wasn't as smart? What if her personality changed? As long as the walk across campus had felt, this walk felt even longer.

Once they reached the room, Sheldon almost collapsed. She was lying on a bed, on her side, and there was large bandage over her temple, spotted with blood. She looked ashen, so tiny, with her eyes closed.

"Amy!"

Kripke helped him over and Sheldon let go to lean against the bed and grab Amy's hands. "Amy."

Then, from somewhere, there was a chair behind him, and hands were helping him sit down. He never let go of Amy's hands. He was crying, he knew it, but he didn't care. "Amy."

He leaned his head down onto her arm and sobbed. Although he had lost track of time, it was all he could think about. All the time in his life that was meaningless before they met. All the time he had wasted after he met her, when he could have been basking in her love and affection. All the times he had said horrible things to her and hurt her. All the times she had forgiven him. All the time she had been patient, waiting for him. All the time, but not time enough, that she had been his wife. Not time enough, it would never be enough time. Time, time. What if the worst possible thing happened, what if time stole Amy from him? He had so little of her. So little it would not fill the rest of time without her. Time. Did she feel the same? Did she feel she had so little of him? Yes, he knew she did. All the times, he knew, that she wanted him to think about one thing. All the time he should have devoted to thinking about it but didn't because of all the times he was too frightened to think about it. Time. It was slipping away. It was slipping away from her, from them. Time. It seemed so precious now. He always acted as though they had all the time in the world. But they didn't. She only wanted one thing, and there was so little time. He wanted more of her, and there was so little time left to make it.

He felt a gentle shaking of his shoulder. "Here, I found some bottled water. And I brought you a towel."

Sheldon took the towel from Kripke and wiped his face, his tears quieting. Then he opened the bottle and took the sweetest drink of his life.

"Listen, I don't know anything about medicine, but I really do think Amy will be okay. The nurse said you just need to talk to her. I'll leave, so you can be alone. Unless you need anything else. Do you want me to find out about some pain meds for your ankle or have someone look at it or your hand or something?"

Sheldon looked at Kripke, really and truly looked at him for the first time in years. "No, I'm fine now."

"Alright," Kirpke said. "I'm sure I can be useful elsewhere."

He was just about to leave the room, when Sheldon called to him. "Barry?"

Kripke turned.

"Thank you."

Kirpke nodded. "Don't mention it, Sheldon. That's what friends are for. Talk to her."

Sheldon watched him leave the room before he turned back to Amy. Her eyes were open. His heart exploded. He grabbed her hands again. "Amy?"

"Sheldon." But she sounded very weak. And then her eyelids slowly shut again, as though speaking had exhausted her.

"I love you, Amy." He paused. "I'm supposed to talk to you, keep your mind occupied. I don't know what to say. I want to discuss something with you, something very serious. But not now. When you're better." He paused again. "I guess since it's Book Club Night, I'll start talking about  _The Hobbit_. It's about a man on a journey, overcoming fears he never thought he had the strength to . . ."

* * *

**_Thank you for your reviews!_ **

**_(And all earthquake related errors are mine alone.)_ **


	32. Delirium

_**Delirium** _

* * *

_"All this seismic activity today? The Geology department thinks it's either an earthquake swarm or even foreshocks. You know, before the big one. The Pres is encouraging everyone to go home and shelter in place," Kripke said._

* * *

They agreed the experiment was success. Amy and her colleague were discussing the results, pleased that it took less time than expected when both of their phoned chimed at the same time.

After reading the email from President Siebert, Dr. O'Brian said, "It's good thing we finished early, then. We'd better leave and discuss this tomorrow. Hopefully. Are you parked far away? Do you need a ride to your car? I'm close."

"No, thank you," Amy answered. "I have to walk over to Downs, to get my husband."

"Are you sure you don't want a ride there?"

"No, it's not that far. It will probably take as long to drive around campus as it will to walk straight there. But thank you."

"Alright. Be safe." Dr. O'Brian left, his large hulking form practically filling the doorway.

Amy took one last lap around the lab, making sure all was in order before taking off her her lap coat and gathering her things. She walked into the hallway and looked both ways. The building really was empty. All of the text alerts from the Geology department about earthquake swarms and foreshocks had frightened everyone away. Just then, the ground rumbled again.  _Yes, I definitely need to get Sheldon and go home._  She was surprised he hadn't already called or texted her; surely he was terrified. Although, if he was deep in thought, he might not even notice.

As she had never used this lab before, Amy was uncertain of the most direct route. She debated which way to turn, and decided on turning right. The hallway stopped in a T. Frowning, she turned left as she saw a doorway at the end of the hall. Exiting the door, she realized it was the wrong one. She walked back into the building and went down the opposite direction. The hallway turned but then there was another door. Stepping outside, she thought this was wrong too, but wasn't as sure. She thought the exit she wanted had stairs. This exit had only one step down to the sidewalk. But she walked about slightly, standing next to a bench, and looking back at the building.  _This is taking forever! I need to go get Sheldon._

She took out her phone, planning on texting him, when it happened. The violent shaking startled her and she dropped her phone. On instinct she reached down to pick it up, but then she jerked forward instead. She felt a sharp pain in her temporal lobe as it struck the corner of the bench and then nothing else.

* * *

There was a voice, someone talking, saying he was happy he'd come back to look for her. It was the wrong voice. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to find the right voice.

_Why am I allowing him to buy me a beverage? Why is he offering to buy me a beverage? Normally my well-rehearsed line about coitus being off the table has the man running away by now. Did he just look over at me? Should I look over at him?_

She thought she was being carried. Or maybe she walking and being held upright and pulled by a set of arms at the same time. Whatever it was, it was surreal and difficult and uncomfortable. She thought she might vomit from the motion. It was the wrong set of arms, the wrong set of hands. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to find the right set of hands first.

_I did not think I would feel this different. Why does the act of him putting a simple ring on my finger made me feel so different? I wish my hands would stop shaking, it is making it difficult to put on his ring. He has such lovely hands. They are now my hands, too._

She heard sirens and some sort of blaring announcement. The same voice, the first voice, was talking to her constantly, but she did not understand it. It was the wrong voice. She desperately wanted to sleep, but she needed to find the right voice.

_Did he just use the word vixen? Vixen! What does that mean? Am I vixen? I like being a vixen. I like it when he calls me a vixen. I do not think I would like it if anyone else called me that._

There was some noise, some shuffling. She was being laid down. She was so very, very tired. She still thought she might vomit. It was the wrong mattress. She wanted to sleep, but she could only sleep if the right person was there.

_I know, I remember, he will be there when I open my eyes. He loves me and he will be there. Oh, he is! Even knowing it did not lessen the feeling! He is so sound asleep. Look at those tufts of hair. Look at his eyelashes. I am besotted. And he is besotted with me! I still cannot believe this, even seeing it now, in the morning light, that he is here in my bed._

She heard a new voice, a voice she also knew. Her face felt wet, the hands connected to the voice were washing her face. Everything looked like a dream. She saw red, red on gauze. It was the wrong color. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to see the right color first.

_Did that really just happen? Did he really just kiss me? His eyes, his eyes are so blue. What is that look he is giving me? What does it mean? I will die of happiness from that look. His eyes are so blue. They have never been more blue._

This voice is soothing and familiar, but it is still the wrong voice. She was in a different place, some sort of small room. Like a doctor's office, but not. It was the wrong room. She wanted to sleep, but she needed the right person with her.

_I cannot concentrate. I must concentrate. I must remember every detail of this. It feels like three heartbeats. Yes, that is it. The first is the one I've known my entire life, although it is beating exceptionally fast. The second is the one I've longed for, deep inside of me. It feels full and strange, although it is getting better. The third is completely unexpected, whispering in my ear. It is the most beautiful, soft and sincere. I must remember every word. Why is my cheek wet where it touches his? Am I crying? Or is he crying? I do not care. I want to hold him closer. Now there is only one heartbeat. It is ours._

At last, she heard nothing. She was so very tired. She has never been more tired. No, once, she remembered, she was this tired. It was a different sort of tired. But she wanted to hear the same thing. She could not sleep until she heard it, no matter how very, very tired she was.

_I don't know why I agreed to dance with him. I don't know why I thought I would have the strength. I cannot do this. I cannot continue to break my heart daily, even for him. I thought, for a while, that kisses were enough. They are not. He is quoting_ Jane Eyre _. I shouldn't accept it. I want to accept it. I want it to be enough. It is not enough. I need his love. I need him to tell me. I need to hear his voice. I need to hear his voice._

She heard his voice. But it was anguished. It was killing her. She felt his hands, but they were trembling and one was strangely sticky. They were killing her. He was sobbing. She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to tell him that she was here, that everything would be okay. She could not sleep until he knew.

_I cannot figure out what I am doing wrong. I want to reach out to him, to hold him, to tell him that I am here, that everything will be okay if he will only let me help. But he will not let me. He is closing in on himself. I can't seem to reach him. I don't know what to do. This is killing me._

She forced her eyes open. He was talking now, sounding more like himself, but he was not talking to her. He was talking to . . . someone else she knew. But it was like not the conversations they normally had. He was drinking water. He smelled strongly of sweat. That was not his normal smell. Everything was strange, everything was different, everything was wrong.

"Amy?" It was his voice, it was his heartbeat, they were his hands, they were his blue eyes, any room with him was the right room.

She gathered all her strength, she dug down deep inside herself, she forced the word out, the only word that mattered to her. "Sheldon."

She didn't want to stop looking at him, but her eyes closed without her consent. She was so very tired. All she was wanted to do was sleep. But she could not, not just yet.

"I love you, Amy."

It was all she needed. Everything was strange, but everything would be alright. She feel asleep to the lullaby that was his voice.


	33. The Hobbitt - Bonus Scene

**_Surprise! There's a bonus chapter! If you're reading this story for the book discussions, please don't be disappointed at the lack of book._ **

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**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2017**

**Bonus Scene**

* * *

One of the things that had made Penny fall in love with the cute little Spanish bungalow was the old-fashioned telephone niche in the hallway. No sooner had they closed on the house then she told Leonard she wanted to get a phone, a real phone with a curly cord, to put in the niche. He thought it was an unnecessary expense to pay for a landline they'd never use, but, being Leonard, he indulged her as she knew he would. And each of their friends (except Sheldon, of course, although she never really understood his excuse) and some of their family members had called the number the first week, and she had giggling conversations with them standing in the hallway of her new house. Short conversations, because she discovered standing in a hallway was a very uncomfortable and boring place to have conversations. And so the phone fell silent and most days Penny forgot it even had service.

However, it crossed her mind when she and Leonard huddled under the kitchen table the night of the earthquake. _I can't believe I haven't lived in my cute house a year and a half yet, and it's about to crumble around me. And take my adorable phone niche with it._  But the house didn't crumble; just some broken wedding china and loose roof tiles and the electricity went out. And no cell phone service.

Thus, it was the real phone with a curly cord that rang, loud as an explosion, at five the next morning, interrupting the fitful sleep into which they had eventually managed to fall. It was, of all people, Barry Kripke. She stood in the hallway with Leonard and listened to his half of the conversation, realizing that old-fashioned phones in uncomfortable hallways were exactly where such uncomfortable discussions should occur.

"Thank you for calling," Leonard said before hanging up. "Good night. Or morning I guess." Then he looked over his glasses at her. "Get dressed. Sheldon and Amy are at the hospital."

He told her everything Kripke had said on the drive to the Fowler-Cooper home, where they had decided to get clothes for the couple, but it wasn't much. She wasn't even sure how Kripke came this knowledge or how he had obtained their landline number, and Leonard hadn't thought to ask. And she didn't understand, was only Amy injured or Sheldon, too? Why didn't Leonard ask for more details? They bickered and nipped at each other, bundles of stress from the lack of sleep and worry for their friends. The drive wasn't helping, as it took at least twice as long with traffic and blocked streets and people wandering around gawking. And then they were stopped by a police blockade. The entire twenty-third-hundred block of Los Robles was ashes.

They were silent for the rest of the drive, lost in remorse at their bickering and the sudden recognition that things weren't bad for them at all. It took over another hour just to get to the hospital. Penny was already thinking of all the ways Sheldon could have a break-down. None of them were pretty. What if it was like MeeMaw all over again? Or worse? And Amy, normally his touchstone in difficult situations, was, according to Kripke, sound asleep at least. Maybe worse, she wasn't sure.

Penny was almost in tears by the time they made it the room, and seeing them sent the drops coursing silently down her cheeks. They both looked so pitiful and pale. Sheldon was stretched out on the very edge of Amy's bed, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, his hair messed, his shoes off with some sort of brace on one foot, lying as close to her as he could without actually touching her. Except her hand. That he was holding in his own gaze-wrapped palm. He wasn't sleeping, just watching her. It looked to Penny like he was counting her heartbeats.

"Hey, buddy," Leonard whispered.

"Hello," Sheldon said. He didn't look way from Amy.

"How's Amy?" Penny asked, speaking softly at Sheldon's back.

"She suffered a closed head trauma of her right temporal lobe. She required eight staples. She has a concussion. She's to be woken every two hours for the next twenty-four hours and asked questions she knows the answers to in order to gauge her mental clarity."

"Sweetie, have you slept? I'm sure there are nurses or somebody that could do that," Penny said.

"No, they won't ask the right things."

"Is it supposed to be personal stuff? Leonard and I could do that. We could ask her about work and what book she's reading and -"

"I have to do it. No one else knows the right questions."

It struck Penny that of all things Sheldon had told her in their long friendship, it was the first time she had ever heard such naked, raw emotion in his voice. He wasn't hiding behind his intelligence or his arrogance or anything at all. Penny glanced at Leonard, and she saw he heard it, too.

"So, buddy, we thought we'd stop by your apartment to get you some clean clothes," Leonard spoke and then paused.

"Thank you. Just put them on the chair," Sheldon said.

Leonard's eyes met her's again, and she took his hand for strength. "Sweetie, we have some bad news."

"I doubt it."

"Sheldon," Leonard said, "it's your apartment. They think there was a gas leak or something. There was a fire and, well, I'm sorry . . ."

Fourteen seconds passed in agony. Penny knew this because the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock reverberating in the still room. She could hardly breathe, she was so fearful of what Sheldon would do next.

"Everything?" Sheldon finally asked, still not turning over to look at them.

"Yes," Leonard said.

Another six seconds. "It doesn't matter. At least Amy wasn't home."

_Because she is all that matters._  Penny heard it as surely as if Sheldon had said it aloud, not just in his heart.

The next morning they looked slightly better as they all entered the back door, if for no other reason than Amy was awake (although oddly quiet) and they were both standing. Sheldon was gripping her hand, as he had been doing almost constantly that morning; Penny was surprised he had let it go long enough to limp around the car to his own side.

"Are you guys hungry? Did you get breakfast at the hospital before we came?" Leonard asked.

"Yeah, now that our phones are working again, I thought I'd find a Target or something that's open and go get you guys something else to wear," Penny said. She didn't know why she felt so awkward in her own house, but maybe it was just the swiftness of the change. She and Leonard had not even discussed it. They had come home from the hospital yesterday and both went to the guest bedroom in silent agreement to start cleaning it out. It was obvious, wasn't it: Sheldon and Amy would come to live with them.

"We need to get Amy to bed so she can rest," Sheldon answered.

"No, Sheldon," Amy said. "What I really want is a bath."

"Okay, sure. I'll get some yoga pants. I know they're not your style, but they're clean. Do you need help?" Penny asked.

"I'll do it," Sheldon said brusquely.

"He needs a shower, too," Amy said. "He's smells like a skunk."

It was quieter than normal, but it sounded so much like the brutal honestly she knew from Amy that Penny actually smiled.

There was no break-down. There was no crying or screaming or hyperventilating or running away or reverting to a robot. Because it was obvious, wasn't it: Sheldon and Amy had each other, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	34. The First Four Years

**_Thank you for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2017**

**Primary Topic: _The First Four Years_ by Laura Ingalls Wilder  
**

* * *

Penny pushed her plate back and gave her stomach a satisfied pat. "Wow, you guys, that was delicious!"

"Of course it was. Amy made it," Sheldon said.

"Hey, Amy and I worked together on it!" Leonard protested. "I thought we made a good team."

"We did," Amy answered, smiling at Leonard.

"I think we should add Leonard cooking with Amy nights to the permanent dinner rotation," Penny suggested.

"That's hardly fair. Why should Amy have to cook twice a week for us?" Sheldon asked.

"And me," Leonard grumbled.

"It's okay, Sheldon, I don't mind. I used to cook at least twice a week at home," Amy said. She felt a vague pang at the memory of their two happy years in their old apartment.

"Yeah, Sheldon. If you want to talk about fair, it's not fair that you and Penny never cook on your nights, you just order food," Leonard said.

"Hey!" Penny yelled.

"You have no idea how difficult it's been to try out all those new Thai restaurants!" Sheldon said, his voice starting to rise.

"Poor Sheldon. I'm sure picking up the phone and dialing almost kills you," Leonard shot back.

"Remember the one on Cordova? It did almost kill us," Amy said, hoping to defuse the situation.

"Oh." "Yes." "Ugh." A mumbled chorus went around the table in Penny and Leonard's kitchen. It was one memory they all hoped to forget. A pallor fell over the table.

"I have some good news," Sheldon said, breaking it.

Amy smiled at him but didn't speak. She already knew, of course, he had called her immediately.

Sheldon continued, "Barry and I got initial funding approval this afternoon for our joint project. You remember the one I explained to you, Leonard. Of course, it will be a couple of months until everything goes through and we can get started."

"Barry?" asked Penny.

"You know, Barry Kripke," Leonard answered. "That's great news, Sheldon."

"Kripke? I thought you hated him, Sheldon. He's your like arch-enemy or something," Penny said.

Before Sheldon could answer, Leonard did. "Oh, didn't we tell you? When the earthquake happened another dimension opened up and an alternate Sheldon Cooper came through. You know, one that is actually not a pain in the ass house guest all the time and is friends with Kripke."

"We are not friends!" Sheldon protested. "We're merely work colleagues who discovered we had similar although slightly different theories, and it made more sense to combine the two into the same grant application. I'm sure it will be proven my theory is the correct one."

"Really? Barry?" Leonard said, using his hand to make air quotes around the second word.

Amy felt the tension growing in Sheldon, sitting next to her.

"What do you know about this, Amy? You're being awfully quiet," Penny asked.

"I'm not a physicist. Why would I know anything about their grant application?" It was a weak argument, but it was mostly true.

"No, I'm talking about what happened between Sheldon and Kripke. You have to know about that."

"I don't have any memory of the earthquake. Or the day before. Or two or three days after." Again, she thought Penny and Leonard would see through her weak, albeit true, statement. But she was not going to give away Sheldon's secret. He had told her everything, every detail of that night, how frightened he had been, what Kripke had done for him. They had had a long, deep, hushed conversation in Penny and Leonard's guest bed a few days after everything happened. They discussed practical matters, how to get back on their feet because everything they owned had been burnt along with their apartment building, looking for a new place to live, even a dream they realized they now both shared. It was the first sharp, crisp memory Amy had since the earthquake.

Sheldon thanked her by shifting his legs under the table, so his ankle crossed hers. She wanted to smile at him, but that would give it away. Instead, she changed the subject. "Did I mention Sheldon and I won't be here for dinner tomorrow? We have an appointment to look at a new condominium complex after work."

"Oh, where at?" Leonard asked.

"Los Robles Avenue." Amy smiled. Leonard grinned back.

"So, Sheldon, what will you find wrong with it this time? It can't be the address," Penny said.

He sighed. "You make it sound like I'm purposely trying to find things wrong with all these places. As though it's all my fault, and not that there is a housing shortage right now."

"This one looks good on paper," Amy said. "And construction had already started before the earthquake, so that's good news - it will be done sooner. Apparently it just passed inspection to resume. We'll see how the virtual models look tomorrow."

"I hope it works out," Penny said. "But you're welcome to stay as long as you need to, you know that right?"

"We know. Thank you. Even if this place meets all of Sheldon's exacting standards, it will be several months. You're not going to get rid of us quickly, it seems."

They all smiled at each other.

"Well, Amy," said Sheldon, standing up, "as it's Penny's night to clean the kitchen, why don't we take our evening stroll?"

Jackets on, as it was unseasonably cool for May, they started their walk. They took the same route every evening. It had been Amy's idea, a new ritual she had developed as a way to give each couple some space, a way for her to have Sheldon all to herself for at least a while every evening.

They walked silently for a couple of minutes. Amy was enjoying the beautiful evening, the almost hush in the air as the late sun warmed her face, the smell of all the flowers. She said, "I love all these flowers blooming. There are so many flowers here! It's such a nice neighborhood."

She noticed Sheldon looking around a bit more than usual. "Yes, I suppose there are a lot flowers." He sighed softly. "Amy, do you want a house?"

Amy raised her eyebrows. "I thought we already made our decision based on several lifestyle factors. Plus, the demand for houses is even worse than condominiums. The prices are outrageous."

"Yes, you're right. I just . . . I didn't know if maybe, if you thought, if we might need a back yard." He shrugged a little.

Amy took his hand, and he clasped it back. "That's what parks are for. And you don't strike me as the playing catch type."

"Catch? Why would I ever play catch? How ridiculous. I was thinking for more explosive experiments."

She chuckled. "How about you just promise me any experiments that run the risk of blowing up the kitchen will be performed in Leonard or Howard's back yard instead?"

Sheldon smiled. "Agreed."

They walked a little further in peace, still holding hands.

"Do you want to have Book Club now, while we walk? Or should we do it later, in bed?" Sheldon asked.

"Mmmm, Book Club in bed. I like the sound of that," Amy answered.

"I didn't mean it that way, and you know it!"

Amy smiled at him. "What a pity. Two of my favorites things . . ." She let the sentence fall away but enjoyed the look on Sheldon's face. "Let's have Book Club now. Thank you for letting me pick again this month."

"It only seemed fair," he shrugged. "This was such a strange choice, Amy. I can't believe you picked the last book of a series. Shouldn't we have started at the beginning? I had to read all the plot synopses on Wikipedia. Although we probably could have read them all given how short this book was. At first I thought I had made an error and downloaded the abridged version," Sheldon huffed. "You can't imagine how terrifying it was to think I made an error."

Amy chuckled to herself. "It was strange for me, too. I hadn't read it in years. Decades, really. I have strong memories of checking out Laura Ingalls Wilder books from the library in elementary school, but not after that. I think I was in first or second grade. But I was shocked at how short it was! I remember being immersed in those books for what felt like weeks as a child, longing to be there instead of here," Amy shook her head. "I'm sorry that I made you jump to the end of the series, but I really wanted to read this book."

"Why this one?"

"It's hard to explain. I . . ." Amy sighed softly. "I remembered that even though Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote this book, she never published it. Even her daughter didn't, she left it be published after her death. Her daughter said she thought Laura didn't have the heart to publish it. It was too depressing, I guess. That everything that could go wrong in the first four years of her marriage did."

Sheldon stopped walking abruptly, and Amy almost stumbled into him. "Sheldon?"

"Is that what you think? That everything has been wrong?" His blue eyes were boring into hers.

"No! Not everything, not at all, Sheldon. That's not what I meant. I meant that . . . well, they had horrible luck, didn't they? Four years of storms and droughts and fires and so many other things. Maybe I was feeling down when I picked it. Maybe I wanted to read about somebody who had it worse than me."

"You picked it out of a sense of schadenfreude?"

"No, not really. It's not that I wanted to gloat at her four years of back luck instead of our . . ." she slid her eyes away from Sheldon's.

"You can say it," he said softly.

"Our couple of months this year. It wasn't about gloating. I wanted to be reminded that even though things were so bleak for them, worse than even for us, she still managed to live a long, happy life. I wanted to be reminded of somebody who was content with the little things, like the way the prairie grasses looked in the spring. Someone who knew that possessions don't bring happiness."

Sheldon nodded slowly and squeezed her hand. Then he lifted her hand and placed in the crook of his elbow before he started walking again, in a traipse that would make Mr. Darcy proud. "Are you sad about our possessions, Amy?"

"A little. Not heartbroken, though. They were just things, after all. They can be replaced. Well, except . . ."

"Except what?"

"You'll think it's silly."

"Probably. Go on."

The corners of Amy's lips turned up. "I miss my tiara."

"I'll buy you another."

"It won't be the same. The memory will be different."

Sheldon shrugged slightly against her. "Then it's the memories that matter."

"Yes, of course. I know that. And thank goodness for iCloud; we still have the pictures." She squeezed his arm. "And each other."

He only nodded, and it spoke volumes.

Something about it reminded Amy of the story Penny had told her, of the morning after the earthquake, when she and Leonard had come to the hospital. Amy had some sort of vague memory of hearing their voices, but that was it.

They walked in quietude, Amy's mind leaving Penny's story before rifling through half a dozen other fractured memories. There was Sheldon voice's asking her questions ("What shirt was I wearing the day we were married? What movie do we watch every Valentine's Day?"), there was the worst headache of her life, there was Penny talking about clothes, there was Sheldon helping her in the bath, there were the smiles of her friends, there was a disagreement with Sheldon about how hungry she was ("But you're only allowed clear foods for 48 hours!"), there was terror, terror until Sheldon squeezed her tight and made it go away, there was her mother on the phone, there were strange rooms, there was Sheldon complaining about the brace on his ankle, and then, like a ray of sunshine, there was the sharp memory of Sheldon, holding her hand, wondering if it was too early to talk about something so serious, telling her what she most longed to hear.

At length, she spoke, "Is there anything you really miss?"

"Yes and no. I do miss my collectibles, but not as much as I thought I would. I think I just miss the idea of their presence, the way they made the apartment feel like home."

"No, Penny and Leonard's certainly isn't home, is it? But, remember, no complaining. And certainly never to them."

"I remember," Sheldon asserted.

"Oh, there really is something else I miss!"

His head swiveled to look at her. "What?"

"My harp."

"Do you not like the Vulcan Harp app I put on your new iPad for you?"

Amy smiled softly at his crestfallen expression. "It's not that I don't like it. I've enjoyed the challenge of learning to play it. It's just that it's not the same."

"I know. I promise someday we'll have a new home and a new harp."

"That's very chivalrous of you. But you do know I don't need you to take care of me, right? I'm not some milquetoast woman."

"I wouldn't dream of taking care of you -"

"Good, just so we're clear on that," Amy interjected.

"- I'll just let you take care of me," Sheldon finished.

"Well, some one has to do it," Amy said with a grin.

"Indeed." He smiled back.

Amy's grin passed and her eyes softened. "Persistence."

"What about it?"

" _The First Four Years._  It's a book about persistence. Persevering. Believing with your entire being that something will happen, that you can make it happen, because you want it so badly," she said.

"Oh, Amy . . ." he looked away from her, staring straight ahead. "I wish I could promise you . . ."

She wondered if she shouldn't have said it that way. She knew, even though he was trying - and mostly succeeding - at being strong and calm for her, this thing, this most important thing, was one thing he didn't have ultimate control over. And it was in the midst of an upheaval that had only reminded him of how mortal he was.

"Persistence," he said after a while, and then he turned to look down at her. "I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"Trust me. I know a lot about persistence." And, with that, she pulled herself closer to Sheldon's arm, leaning toward him as was her habit, walking forward together with him.

* * *

They heard it as soon as they opened the front door, the loud crashing sounds coming from Leonard and Penny's bedroom. They looked at each other and said in unison, " _Transformers._ "

"I don't understand why they watch it so much," Amy said.

"Because it's an enjoyable film based on a beloved 1980's toy and cartoon?" Sheldon asked as he followed her into their bedroom.

"It doesn't seem like Penny's style," she replied, taking off her jacket and hanging it up in the closet before reaching to take Sheldon's from him.

Sheldon shrugged. "Maybe Leonard has been a good influence. Do you want to watch something out in the living room?"

"No, I have a better idea," Amy said, unbuttoning her cardigan.

"What is it?" Sheldon said as she took a couple of steps to shut the bedroom door behind him.

"I believe, Dr. Cooper, something was mentioned about Book Club in bed." She came up to him and wrapped her arms around him, looking up at him, her green eyes radiating.

"No, Amy, I know what you're thinking, and it's non-negotiable."

* * *

"Sheldon! Sheldon! Wake up!"

He awoke with a start, a thousand terrible things cramming into his head at once. Earthquake! Fire! I have to find Amy! Amy's having another night terror! Oh, it was Amy waking him up. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was still dark, only her outline was visible above him. "What's wrong? What time is it?"

"Early. I woke up because I had to go to the bathroom and - and - well, look!" Amy shoved something close to his face. He knew instantly.

He backed away. He hadn't thought it possible a few seconds ago, but his heart rate had accelerated even more. "I don't want to touch it! You've urinated on it!"

"I put the cap back on. Look, look!"

_I can't breathe, I can't breathe._ "You . . . you just . . . tell me." Yes, that would be better, everything was better when Amy said it, when Amy explained it. Although he already knew.

"Oh, Sheldon!" She attacked him, jumping on the bed, pulling him in so tightly it made it even harder to breathe. "I'm pregnant! I can't believe it happened so soon! I'm so happy."

Sheldon put his arms around her then, because he knew her voice well enough to know she was about to cry. Happy tears, yes, but tears nonetheless. He, however, felt very, very strange. He discovered that the emotion of trying to give Amy something they wanted was a vastly different feeling from having succeeded.


	35. Sacrifices

_**Sacrifices** _

* * *

_"Amy, what is it?" Sheldon said as Amy shut the bedroom door behind them._

_"I believe, Dr. Cooper, something was mentioned about Book Club in bed." She came up to him and wrapped her arms around him, looking up at him, her green eyes radiating._

_"No, Amy, I know what you're thinking, and it's non-negotiable."_

* * *

In truth, he wanted to put his arms around her, too, but he resisted because, well, it was non-negotiable. "You know that's not what I meant when I said that earlier. We already talked about the book. Most importantly, Leonard and Penny are home."

"Come on, Sheldon, they're watching  _Transformers_. They'll never know."

"I'll know." Feeling Amy so close to him, pressing against him, looking up at him with that look, was not helping.

"But don't you agree all the pre-planned intimacy, waiting for only when we know they're going to be out of the house for a least an hour, is cramping our style?"

Sheldon blew out a long breath. No, Amy this close was definitely not helping. "There's no lock on the door."

"They've never once tried to come in here when the door is shut."

"They'll hear us."

"I doubt that given how loud  _Transformers_  is. But . . ." Amy let go of him, and his shoulders relaxed. But not the other part. She walked to his laptop, opened the cover and clicked a few times on the tracker. Neil Diamond music filled the room. "This might help."

She stood looking at him. She was wearing her hair more full lately; even though he knew the purpose was to hide the short hairs that were growing back around her head injury, it reminded him of her early morning hair. She had already taken off her cardigan, and she wasn't wearing a blouse, as she had replaced so few of them; she was wearing Penny's pink Sheldon Cooper's Council of Ladies tee shirt, of all things, and he noticed how his name stretched across her bosom. It was, frankly, very erotic.  _Drat._  He gave a big sigh, and lifted his own tee shirt over his head.

Amy raised her eyebrows. "So, that's a yes?"

He kicked off his shoes and starting unbuckling his belt. "Two rules. One: you have to be quiet -"

"Me?"

"Yes, you, and you know what I mean. Two: I estimate there is a twenty-five minutes of  _Transformers_  remaining, at most, and that includes credits which I doubt they'll watch, so start undressing. Now."

Amy laughed as she lifted the tee shirt over her head.

"No laughing!"

"You said only two rules. And laughing won't give us away." Her skirt dropped.

"I make the rules, I can change the rules. And that kind of laughing will." He was naked now.

She laughed again, but Sheldon leapt to her and silenced her with a kiss. A really, really deep kiss. He pulled way, still holding her face.

"No laughing. And no underwear. Chop chop." He let go so that she could remove the remaining undergarment.

He sat on the bed, and he pulled her down next to him.

"Mmm, I like in control Sheldon Cooper." She laughed again.

"I swear, vixen, don't make me spank you." He reached for her and kissed again, before she could squeal, although he would have loved to hear it. It was a sacrifice. He backed up just long enough to get a breath, and then kissed her once more. His arms wove around her back. And again. He had really missed this, the unplanned eagerness, the way her tongue felt in his mouth, the way it reached for him even as his reached for her. The constant give and take. Amy was right, of course, all this planning was interfering with their physical activities. And there was the other thing, the thing he couldn't help but think about, the thing he called The Project in his mind, but dared never to say to Amy.

"I could kiss you like this all night," he finally whispered.

"Next time they go out we'll make out for hours. I thought tonight we had a time limit," Amy smirked.

"You are correct, Dr. Fowler, as usual." Then he ran a hand down her stomach and even lower. He would have liked to have taken his time, but, again, sacrifices.

He pulled her closer as her breathing came faster and kissed her as long as he could. Then she pulled her lips away and buried her head on his shoulder, her hips starting to thrust to meet his hand.

"Sheldon," she moaned. "Stop. I can't. I don't think I can be quiet."

He stopped moving his hand and looked down at her. Her face, normally so beautiful with abandonment, was etched in concentration.  _No, this is not a sacrifice I'm willing to make._

"Please, let it come, whatever you need to do," he whispered in her ear. He put his other hand on the back on her head, and pulled her in even closer. He started moving his fingers again, drawing her pleasure out of her, and she bite down lightly on his shoulder, just like one of her little love bites. Then it wasn't so light at all, and her fingernails dug painfully into his arms but she didn't cry out as loud as normal. Just a very deep, throaty moan, something animalistic pulsing down from his shoulder. It was a wonderful sensation.

They relaxed against each other. He kissed her forehead and ran his hands through her hair. "Good?"

"Yes," she murmured. "Did I hurt you?"

He shrugged. "A bruise is a small sacrifice."

Then he rolled her on her back and used his knees to spread her legs further apart and found his way into her.  _Yes, I really, really missed this. Not planning is so much better_. He moved quickly, quicker than normal, and put more effort into each movement. He rested his cheek against hers so that he could hear her staccato, almost hiccup-like breaths, one for each thrust.  _This is really, really good. I love that sound._ At the end, he gritted his teeth so his own moan would be quieter. Which, it crossed his rattled mind, was a shame because he really, really wanted to scream her name so she would know how much he had missed this. Another sacrifice.

He collapsed next to her. As usual, she curled up against him. "Thank you, Sheldon."

"Actually, I should thank you. That was . . ."

"Yes, it was."

* * *

Penny cuddled up closer to Leonard, relaxing her head on his shoulder, only half watching the end of the movie, her eyelids heavy. Unexpectedly, he paused it.

"What?" she asked, perking up.

"Do you hear that?"

She listened. "Is that music? Oh, God, are they starting dance night here? And we already have to listen to that horrible harp app!"

"No, I thought -"

And then they both heard it. A faint but very distinctive  _squeak, squeak_  of the guest bed. Penny grabbed the remote and quickly pressed play, and then collapsed laughing into Leonard's shoulder.

"I did not need to hear that," Leonard said. "Ever."

"Then why did you pause the movie?" Penny asked between her giggles.

"I couldn't tell what it was. I heard something else first - Oh, no! I just realized what it was!" Leonard groaned and put his hands over his face. "I think it was Amy."

Penny laughed harder. "Good for her!"

"Shhh," Leonard said, "don't laugh, they'll hear us."

"Oh, honey, I don't think they're paying any attention to us." Her laughter quieted. "I guess it's only fair."

"Fair? Oh, you mean for all the times Sheldon complained about hearing us?"

"No." She snuggled up closer to her husband's naked body. "I mean, we have  _Transformers_ , they have music."

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	36. Fears

**Fears** __

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_"Oh, Sheldon!" she attacked him then, jumping on the bed, pulling him in so tightly it made it even harder to breathe. "I'm pregnant! I can't believe it happened so soon. I'm so happy."_

* * *

It had been a glorious, if surprising, day. Amy felt like her feet had never touched the ground. She had almost everything she had ever wanted. True, she didn't have a home, per se, but she had a roof over her head. And Sheldon. And now Sheldon's baby. Baby. She found herself rolling the word around in her head. This was really happening.

Poor, sweet Sheldon. He had been so shocked this morning, she knew. Honestly, she was in shock herself. She let him have his shock. She had expected it; she would have been concerned if he had done something so out of character as to jump up and down with glee. Then there was work, and, although each text from Sheldon ended with "Are you well?," nothing else out of the ordinary was said or happened. After work, they went to their appointment with the developer of yet another condominium complex, which took hours, as usual, because Sheldon had a list of over one hundred questions.

Quickly, it was bedtime again, and Amy crawled in next to him. "I was thinking, Sheldon, that we have found the best place to live. It had everything we wanted: a great room, a kitchen island, and we can use the sunroom as a sort of office for our computers. And there's a washer dryer hook-up! Heaven is doing laundry whenever we want. What did you think?"

"If you liked it, it's fine."

_Hmmmm._  "I know you prefer to think about these things for a while, but I don't think we should wait. Not only are places going quickly, but we're in a bit of a time crunch now."

"Yes, you're right. We'll call tomorrow."

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"I think we should talk about the . . . baby."  _I just said it! Aloud!_   _This is really happening!_

"Yes, you're right."

"First, I think we need to decide when to tell people, now or wait until after the first trimester. With our friends, we either had to tell everyone or no one. Maybe our mothers are different."

"Whatever you think is best."

Amy heart had gradually sped up. She had expected initial paralysis from Sheldon, even if they had planned this; it was a huge life change for him, for them, and he would need a few hours to adjust. But this, this! Sheldon was never irresolute about anything, and it worried her.

"Sheldon, are you . . . are you unhappy?" She heard her voice almost break.  _Please, Sheldon, don't regret this, please._

He turned toward her then, and he brought his hand up to her cheek. "I'm not unhappy."

"But are you happy?"

He dropped his hand, and it felt like her heart dropped like a stone along with it. "I don't know. I'm overwhelmed. I'm frightened."

The vulnerability in his voice was so palpable, Amy softened. "I'm sorry. We should have waited. I don't what we were thinking, starting to try this even before we had a home of our own. It's too much stress."

"Yes, that's part of it. But please don't apologize. I . . . I wanted it, too."

Now it was Amy's turn to touch his face. "Sheldon, please tell me. Tell me what is worrying you."

"Lots of things."

"Tell me all of them."

"All of them? I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please." Amy took his hand and kissed it. "Here." Then she turned off the bedside lamp. Darkness fell in the room. Sheldon always talked more in the dark.

He took a deep breath. "Are you sure? I don't want to upset you."

"I'm sure."

Another deep breath. "Okay. Yes, I'm worried about if we'll have somewhere to live before the baby comes. I'm worried about you, physically. You could - there could be a miscarriage. I'm worried about the money. We have all the insurance money, of course, but with the housing shortage and prices and then a baby. Honestly, I'm worried about your mother; what if she wants to come around all the time now?" (This worry made Amy worry, too; she hadn't thought of it.) "I'm terrified of . . . childbirth. It was awful when my nephew was born. I had nightmares. I'm worried I don't know anything, anything, about babies other than they are loud and messy and full of germs. Diapers! I'm worried you'll love the baby more than me. I'm worried I'll drop the baby. I'm worried you'll spend eighteen years angry at me because I'm not doing anything correctly. I'm worried that we made love last night and you were pregnant, even though I know I shouldn't be because I've read  _What to Expect When You're Expecting_  twice now." (This worry caused Amy to raise her eyebrows.) "That makes we worry about why I worry about something when I know there is absolutely no scientific basis for me to worry. I'm worried the baby will be a boy and want to play sports. I'm worried the baby will be a girl and want to play with princesses all the time. I'm worried the baby will turn out like one of my siblings, with a below average IQ. I'm worried the baby will grow up to a be a hippy and refuse to go to college." (This worry made Amy smile.) "I'm worried the baby won't be anything like you, and that makes me sad. I'm worried I'll die when the baby is fourteen. I'm worried the baby won't like superheroes and  _Star Wars_  and math. And . . . never mind."

"What, Sheldon, what?"

"It's something Kirpke said today."

"What?" Amy had not expected that name to come up. "Did you tell Kripke I was pregnant?"

"No, of course not." He sighed softly. "We working together on an equation. And he asked me if I would consider doing a favor for him. He met a new faculty member in the mathematics department last week, and this person is have trouble adjusting, he said. He asked if I would be willing to meet him and talk to him, help him adjust to academia."

"Okay, well, I think it's nice that Kripke thinks you would be the person to do that, but I don't understand what this has to do with our baby."

Sheldon didn't answer right way. She waited, as she had long ago learned to do. Finally, he said, his voice barely audible, "Kripke said, 'I thought you could help him adjust because you're both on the spectrum.'"

Amy took a sharp breath. "What? But I thought you two were friends, sort of, now. Why would someone just assume that about someone else! I should-"

"I'm not mad, Amy," Sheldon interrupted. "Really. Barry wasn't trying to be mean, I don't think. That's not it. I've . . . it's been said before. It's what the specialist in Houston was for. Mom thinks I don't know, but I do. And do you remember that movie  _Rain Man_? I was eight when it came out. I was still in public school." He paused again, and Amy filled in the rest of the details with her mind. Her heart broke for him. "But today, when he said it . . ." his voice dropped to a whisper again ". . . it can be genetic, you know."

Amy pulled him into her, squeezing him tight. "Oh, Sheldon."

"I worry," he whispered. "I'm worried about that. I worry about why I didn't think of it before."

"Sheldon." Amy grabbed grab both sides of his face. She wished she had not turned the light off, now, so that he would see her eyes, would know how much she meant what she was saying."We are both very intelligent people. We both know we are . . . I prefer to think better, but the word different has been used. Maybe if we were born today, someone would eagerly slap a label on us. We both display -"

She stopped. Her first instinct had been to react with facts and figures. However, as she was speaking, she remembered that often what Sheldon said he wanted to hear was not always what he needed to hear. "Please listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. There are many labels for you. Brilliant. Imaginative. Precise. Tall. Handsome. But do you know what labels matter to me? Husband. Father of my child. Loved. And do you know what labels I want applied to this baby? Ours. And loved. That's it."

"What if that's not enough?"

"Well, physically, of course, it's not. One cannot live on love alone. But, metaphysically, it's enough. Think about how much your mother loves you; even when she drives you crazy talking about religion, you know how loved you are. And even though I know it was difficult for her, and she has never been good hiding that I am a permanent reminder of a mistake she cannot unmake, I know my mother loved me the best she possibly could. And we both turned out okay."

"As you just pointed out, we are better than okay."

Amy smiled. "Yes, we are. Now let's talk about the rest of your concerns. You remember them all, of course?"

"Of course." He paused, and Amy looked at him expectantly, even though he maybe couldn't see that in the dim room. He swallowed. "I'm worried about if we'll have somewhere to live before the baby comes."

"It's a semi-valid concern. All we can do is hope for the best. And we're not homeless; Penny and Leonard will let us stay here as long as we need to."

"But I miss our own home. Being alone with you."

Amy's heart pittered-pattered and she smiled at him. "Me too. Next?"

"I'm worried about you physically."

"I'll take the best possible care of myself. I promise. I'm sure you'll help me. That's all we can do."

"I don't like that the answers to all of my concerns include the phrase 'all we can do.'"

Amy shrugged. "Go on."

Sheldon sighed at her non-answer. "I'm worried about the money."

"Please, Sheldon, if the Titanic was as water-tight as our budgeting skills it would not have sunk. We have always lived within our means. That is not a valid concern."

"Okay, maybe you're right about that. Next - oh," he looked down, "your mother. Sorry."

"Don't be. I don't think she will be a concern. She loathes children." Amy paused, feeling a little guilty for talking about her mother like this. Even though they had never been close, her mother had offered that she and Sheldon could go live with her. They begged off, referencing the commute time, which, while true, was not the whole truth. "I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Next."

"Childbirth. Nightmares."

"I'll think about it. Childbirth, I mean. Some sort of plan to help you, to take pressure from you. The nightmares, well, I have some experience with those." Sheldon squeezed her hand. She did not need to tell him what he already knew. She had not had any night terrors since she had Sheldon in her bed, until after the earthquake; then they had started again, two solid weeks of terrible nights. But they were lessening again. Actually, she hadn't had one all month, she realized.

"Babies. Diapers. Germs. Dropping it. I'll do everything wrong."

"We'll take a class. We'll put hand sanitizer in every room. You won't drop it." She remembered what he said the first time, the rest of the sentence that he had left out here. "And I won't spend eighteen years hating you. I won't spend eighteen minutes hating you. Never." It was her turn to squeeze his hand. She said, "Better? Do we need to go on?"

"Yes. No. Not unless you want to."

"The rest of your concerns about who the baby would turn out to be, correct?"

"Yes."

"It will be who it will be. Maybe he'll be just as tall and brilliant as you. Maybe she'll turn out to be a boy-crazed cheerleader -" she felt Sheldon shudder beside her. "I don't want that, I'm just saying that genetics are a gamble. Whoever he or she is, I'm sure we'll love it regardless. All we can do is take it one day at a time and cross each bridge as we come to it."

"Why do I get the feeling having a baby will involve a lot clichés?" Sheldon sighed softly.

"Just wait until my pregnancy brain kicks in. Who knows what I'll say."

"How can you be so calm about this? You don't seem worried at all."

"You're wrong. I'm terrified. I have many of the same worries as you. I also have worries about myself, how I'm going to handle all the changes to my body. I suspect your fears of labor do not compare to mine. But I know there is nothing to be gained by worrying too much. And I have faith."

"Faith?" Sheldon started. "Like religion?"

"No, not religious. Just a strong sense that it will all turn out okay." She paused and took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you something. Let me finish before you interrupt, okay?"

Sheldon nodded.

"I always knew it was going to be a long road with you, but I also always knew we were in it together. I had faith in you, I had faith in us. I'm not doing a good job of explaining this, I think, but my point is we've always been in this together, and we'll continue to be in this, whatever this is, whatever it brings us, together."

Silence filled the room. Amy was certain he probably thought that was the most ridiculous, hippy-dippy thing she could say.

Sheldon leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You always say exactly the right thing."

Then, in a role reversal, he curled up next to her and put his head on her chest. She stroked his hair.

"Then I have faith in us, too. I still don't think I'm ready, I thought we'd have more time, but I'm getting used the idea," he said whispered into her nightgown.

"I think not feeling ready is a sign you are ready. I don't feel ready, either. Remember when we first met, and we were both so eager to have a test tube baby for the sake of science, we were absolutely certain?"

"Yes."

"Those two kids were so naïve and overconfident, don't you think? They would have been horrible parents."

She felt Sheldon grin, the way his face moved on her chest. "I wish I could go back in time and tell them how wonderful it is to make a baby the old-fashioned way."


	37. A Farewell to Arms

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2017**

**Primary Topic: _A Farewell to Arms_ by Ernest Hemingway  
**

****Additional book(s) mentioned:** _**The Hobbit** _ **by **J. R. R. Tolkien**** _**, The Old Man and the Sea** _ **by Ernest Hemingway** _**, A Moveable Feast** _ **by Ernest Hemingway** _**,** _ ** **_**The Green Mile** _ **by Stephen King** _**,** _ **and** _**Hamlet** _ **by William Shakespeare** **

* * *

_Flusssssh._

Sheldon looked down at his pitiful wife. He had never thought it was possible for someone to actually look gray before. He held out the cup of water, and she took it, rinsing out her mouth. Then he handed her the cup of mouthwash he had prepared in the other hand, and Amy repeated the actions. Unlike most rituals, he hated this one.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes. But I think I need to stay here for a while. I still feel nauseous." She leaned away from the toilet and against the edge of the bathtub.

Sheldon nodded and sat down on the floor, too, even though it was difficult to fold up his long legs in Leonard and Penny's small guest bathroom. "I'm going to kill Penny for this."

"Kill Penny? How is any of this her fault?"

"She tried to cook tonight," Sheldon answered.

"Sheldon, don't be obtuse. You know Penny's cooking had nothing to do with this. Nausea and vomiting related to increased levels of estrogen and progesterone are very common in the first trimester of pregnancy. It's also protecting both me and the fetus from ingested toxins. It's happened before, even that one night I cooked."

"Toxins! I bet that broccoli wasn't organic! I'm going to check, and then I'm going to give Penny a piece of my mind." Sheldon started to get up.

"Sheldon! Sit down!"

Sheldon relaxed back onto the floor.

"Oh, nooo," Amy groaned, leaning quickly back toward the toilet bowl. Sheldon moved to hold her hair through the worst of it and then got up to prepare his well-established water and mouthwash combination. After washing her mouth out for a second time, Amy leaned back again.

"Amy, I feel so helpless. What can I do?"

She shrugged weakly, her eyes closed. "Nothing."

"Should I get you some crystalized ginger? Peppermint tea? Protein?" Sheldon asked.

"I could live the rest of my life without any more crystalized ginger or peppermint tea," she mumbled.

If possible, she looked even worse, exhaustion etched on her face. Amy looked so tired all the time now, and she slept more. Sheldon was at a loss. He hated this. Not even the vomit so much, although it did repulse him, but that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hoped that as she had reached her thirteenth week this would be the last of the morning sickness. And why was it called morning sickness? Amy was sick all the time. Sheldon leaned back against the wall. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

"For what?" She opened her eyes to look at him.

"It's my fault. I did this to you."

Amy sighed. "I don't like that. Don't say that. You did nothing to me. We decided together to do this together."

"But you're the one who is sick. And exhausted. It's not fair."

Amy managed a small smile. "I agree it's not fair. But there is nothing we can do about it. Let's talk about something else. Talking about vomiting is not helping. Distract me. Isn't it Book Club Night?"

"You want to have Book Club now? Here, in the bathroom?"

"We've had Book Club in unusual places before. It might distract me."

Already, Sheldon was pleased to notice, a touch of Amy's color was coming back. And she had smiled, however wanly. Technically, she was right. They had had Book Club in unusual places before. And he normally loved Book Club Night. But he didn't want to talk about this particular book. Ever. Even though he had picked it.

"Sheldon?" Amy prompted when he didn't reply.

"What?"

"Do you not want to talk about the book?"

"I - uh - well -"

"It's okay. I know I didn't finish it, but I've read it before, years ago."

"You didn't finish it?" Relief flooded through Sheldon. He was so grateful, there wasn't even the usual itch at the lack of completion.

"I thought you knew. I've either been in here or I'd fall asleep reading it."

"So we won't talk about it. That's okay."

Amy furrowed her brow, making her look more like herself. "Sheldon, I'm confused. Do you want to talk about the book or not? You picked it. I'm impressed. Hemingway is not what I expected you to choose."

"I picked Hemingway because he's considered one of the most approachable classic American writers. And you like to read the classics. You often pick science fiction for me, like when you picked  _The Hobbit_. I thought you'd like a classic. And I'd never read it before."

"You've never read Hemingway?"

"I've read Hemingway. I had to read  _The Old Man and the Sea_  in school. I read _A Moveable Feast_ in a history class in undergrad. But, no, I was never assigned to read  _A Farewell to Arms_." This was good. He was fine talking about Hemingway, just not  _A Farewell to Arms_. "Have you read  _A Moveable Feast_?"

"No. I've only read Hemingway's three classic novels."

"You might like it. He talks about writing and all the other famous writers he knew in Paris."

"Are we going to talk about  _A Moveable Feast_  or  _A Farewell to Arms_?" Amy asked.

"As you've not completed either, maybe we shouldn't talk about them."

"I told you, I did read  _A Farewell to Arms_ , but it was when I was in college."

Sheldon nodded. "Do you remember the ending?"

Amy frowned. "To be honest, I always get Hemingway's novels mixed up a little bit in my head. Especially since it's been so long since I've read them. I can never remember which novel ends which way."

_I wish I could forget. The ending is seared into my brain._   _If I had known, I would have stopped._  It was true; he would have happily left this book unfinished if he had had some warning. This gave him an idea. He sat up a little straighter. "Maybe we should talk about  _A Farewell to Arms_  just up to the point you read this month."

"Okay. When I finish it, we can talk about the ending."

"You don't have to finish it! I mean, you need your sleep and everything."

Amy turned her head a little and narrowed her eyes. He knew that meant she suspected something. But then she shook her head slightly, giving in. "Okay, the last part I read was when Frederic and Catherine where in the Swiss chalet, playing chess."

_Oh, good. Maybe she'll never finish this book, and they'll forever be warming themselves by the fire, playing chess. It sounds delightful._ Then he realized Amy was watching him, expectantly. "Yes, I remember the scene. We'll talk about everything up to that."

"Well?" Amy prompted.

"Well what?"

"Why are you being so difficult about this? This is not our first Book Club. What did you think about the book?"

He shrugged. "It was okay, I guess."

"So, not a Hemingway fan?"

"I didn't see what all the fuss is about. Everyone talks about his writing style, but it seemed normal to me."

"It was new and fresh at the time. Remember that class you had to take on 18th century British literature? I'm sure you see the difference."

"Of course. But . . . hmmmm . . . this book made me wonder if people exaggerate Hemingway."

"How so?" asked Amy.

"Sometimes people say he never used adverbs or adjectives or that all of his sentences were three words long: subject, verb, object. He's not like that all."

"No, he's not." Amy paused. "Did it have too much war in it? Is that why you didn't like it?"

"It wasn't that. I knew it would be about war. Not just from the title; it's was also Hemingway's favorite topic. I suppose he was haunted by it."

"Maybe something like that. I think he was man with demons, at least. Did you like the love story?"

Sheldon looked away from Amy and tried to focus on the hinge of the vanity cabinet. Time stretched for a bit. Finally, he said slowly, "Do you think they were really in love?"

"Huh, that's an interesting question. I guess I never questioned it. Remember when we read  _The Green Mile_  and you said you believed in John Coffey's supernatural powers because the narrator did, and it was his story? I guess it was like that for me. Frederic certainly believes he is in love with Catherine, and he believes she is in love with him. So I believed them." She paused. "I take you don't believe they were in love?"

"I'm not sure. I wanted to believe it. There were times that maybe I believed it. But . . . I think it was something about the way they talked. The things Catherine said, and that she called him darling all the time. Almost every sentence."

Amy chuckled quietly. Sheldon turned his head back to her, relieved to hear her sound more like herself. Her color had returned. "Sheldon, just because we don't use terms of endearment, doesn't mean other people don't."

"I know. It was like . . . 'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'"

" _Hamlet!_ "

"Yes,  _Hamlet_. I have read Shakespeare. You know the meaning."

"Yes." Amy said. "I disagree, though. I think it's just part of Catherine's speech pattern. She has a very unique cadence."

"What you mean is she had a very annoying cadence. Although not has annoying as his roommate, Rinaldi." Sheldon shook his head. "You liked Catherine?"

"Actually, no. I think she's a ditz. Or trying to pretend to be a ditz because she thinks that's what woman are supposed to be. If it's the latter, I have no use for her. I cannot stand women who allow themselves to be thought of for less than their worth, that hide their intelligence."

"Me neither."

"Obviously."

They smiled at each other, and Sheldon put his hand on her knee. He was about to ask her if she felt well enough to leave the bathroom, when Amy interrupted his thoughts.

"It wouldn't turn out for us like it did for them, will it?" she asked. "The -"

A shiver ran through him. He interrupted, "But you said you didn't finish it!"

"What?" Amy wrinkled her brow. "No, I didn't. Let me talk without interrupting me. I was going say that at the end, the end that I got to, they seemed a little -" She took a sharp breath and looked away from him. "Never mind, it's stupid."

"No, say it."

"I don't know why I brought it up. It won't happen. It was stupid." She still wasn't looking at him.

"Tell me." Sheldon said. "Please, Amy."

Amy sighed and finally met his gaze. "Okay. But I'm only telling you because of your need for closure. You'll probably explode if I don't tell you." She sighed. "I thought, at least when I stopped the book, that they were too wrapped up in themselves, too lost in their own exclusive world. Like they were obsessed with each other, never spending a second apart. Oh, it's stupid. Maybe it was just that they are snowed in that tiny house with the small room. Ignore me."

Sheldon didn't respond right away. Amy had looked down, after she finishing speaking, and was pretending to be straightening a wrinkle in her skirt. She was worried. Maybe it was just a blip that passed through her mind, but it had passed through nonetheless. And it left a wake.

"Amy, do you think about us? Because I don't. We're living with Leonard and Penny. We have friends. We have jobs. We have hobbies."

"No, I don't think that. I don't know. I've been reading it in bed, in the only room we have to ourselves and it doesn't even belong to us and I'm tired and I don't feel good and I'm getting hormonal and why is this bathroom so small? It makes me feel claustrophobic sometimes and. . ." She reached up, almost angrily, to her face, but she was too slow. Sheldon had seen the tear.

"Oh, Amy." He struggled to move a closer to her, to squeeze next to her, and pulled her head to his chest. "It will all be okay, I promise. I promise," he whispered into the top of her head.

"I'm sorry, I'm a horrible wife."

"Shhhh, no, you're not. I don't ever want to hear you say that again." He held her for awhile. They didn't move or speak. Fortunately, he only noticed a couple more tears before they stopped. He wondered if maybe she really was just being hormonal. He had been dreading that part of pregnancy since the very beginning. Or maybe she was just feeling the strain of not having somewhere to live. He couldn't blame her for that. As much as he loved Leonard and Penny, and as much as he once thought he wouldn't ever be able to live without them, the ongoing houseguest situation could be grating. Finally, Amy pulled away.

"You look uncomfortable," she said. "Should we get up?"

"If you're feeling better."

Before Amy could respond, there was a knock at the bathroom door.

"Sheldon?" called Leonard's voice.

"Coming," Sheldon replied, working to get himself standing from his cumbersome position. He opened the door. "Yes?"

"I was heading over the comic book store. Howard is coming, and Raj is already there. I was wondering if you wanted to come. If Amy was feeling better, of course."

Sheldon opened his mouth, but Amy's voice came from behind him. "He'll go."

He turned around to look at her. "But, Amy, I should stay in case you get sick again."

"No, you shouldn't. You haven't gone to the comic book store in weeks. Go. I'm fine." As though proving her point, she started to get up herself. After she stood, she put her hands on her hips. "Go."

Sheldon looked into her green eyes and saw a steely expression there he knew well. Amy raised her chin slightly. He thought of Frederic and Catherine endlessly playing chess, and what Amy had said about them, about them needing space . . . The image dissolved in a moment of clarity. His world would still be here when he got back.

He turned to Leonard. "Let me get my bag."


	38. Being There

**Being There**

* * *

_She sighed. "I thought, at least when I stopped the book, that they were too wrapped up in themselves, too lost in their own exclusive world. Like they were obsessed with each other, never spending a second apart. Oh, it's stupid. Maybe it was just that they are snowed in that tiny house with the small room. Ignore me."_

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door. "Amy?"

"Come in," Amy yelled and sat up in bed.

Penny entered the room in her pajamas and came over to the bed. "How are you feeling, sweetie? Did I wake you?"

"No, I was awake. Actually, I'm feeling much better."

Penny sat down on the edge of the bed. "Good. Do you want to try to eat something else? Sheldon isn't here, you can have whatever you want. We've got ginger ale with high fructose corn syrup and microwave popcorn with whatever is horrible about that. Ice cream, potato chips, pickles, you name it."

Amy smiled at her best friend. "No, thank you. You've really been so kind. Both you and Leonard. I'm sorry for this is happening in your house. We should have waited. We thought we had more time; most couples of our age take an average of three to six months to conceive. And I just stopped the pill and my periods were always so irregular before and I'm thirty-six . . . I should have known even Sheldon's sperm would be above average, and it would happen the first month."

Penny screwed up her face. "Great. And I was just starting to accept the creepy idea that Sheldon Cooper has sex in my guest bed. Now I'll have to think about that, too."

Amy ignored her comment. "Penny, do you think I'm a horrible wife?"

"What? No. I think Mother Theresa has nothing on you. Why?"

"I made Sheldon leave and go to the comic book store with Leonard tonight."

"Yeah, so?"

"It's just that he's been so attentive and caring and mostly calm, and I wonder if I shouldn't have sent him away. Five years ago I would have sold a kidney for this much attention from him." She paused and sighed. "I feel guilty, but I can't help feeling a little . . . smothered. I basically told him that he was obsessing over me. What is wrong with me?" She put her face down into her hands.

"Sweetie, don't feel bad about that. Obsessive compulsive is sort of Sheldon's shtick. Especially when he really, really loves something."

Amy put her hands down. "He really is into me, isn't he?"

Penny smiled at her. "You have no idea. Hey, how about this? The guys are out, we have the house to ourselves, and this is my last week before I start filming. Why don't you put on your PJs, and we'll watch  _Sex in the City_  in my bed?"

"Okay."

"Great! I'll meet you in there. I'm going to get some wine. Do you want anything?" Penny got off the bed.

"I'll take some of that ginger ale, if you don't mind." Amy got up, too.

"Sure thing."

Amy changed into her nightgown and went to Penny's bedroom. She took the  _Transformers_  BluRay out and put in  _Sex in the City_  instead. She had just got up onto the bed when Penny returned, her hands full.

"Oh, good, you've got it ready. One ginger ale for you." Penny climbed in bed next to her, handing her the cold can.

"Penny, can I ask you something? A really big favor?" It was something Amy had thought about for awhile now.

"Sure, what?" Penny asked, taking a handful of popcorn out the bag she had made.

"Will you be my back-up? When I have the baby? In case Sheldon can't do it, can't be in the room. Will you come in with me?"

"Oh, Ames. Of course I will. But he'll be there."

"I'm not sure. The sight of blood makes him pass out. And he had nightmares after his sister had the baby, and he wasn't even in the room the whole time. I need a back-up. You can be my back-up, and Leonard can hang out with Sheldon, giving him fresh paper bags to breathe into."

Penny smiled. "Yes, we will be your back-ups. But you won't need us. Trust me, he'll be there."

"How can you be so certain?"

Penny shrugged. "Because you'll be there. Obsessive compulsive is his thing, remember?"

Amy settled back into the mountain of pillows on Penny's giant bed with a contented sigh. She pressed the play button on the remote.

Just as Carrie's dress was getting splashed by the bus on the screen, Penny said, "This whole conversation reminds me that I owe Raj ten dollars."

* * *

Sheldon and Leonard where met by an empty living room when they opened the front door.

"Where are they?" Leonard asked.

"They're watching  _Sex and the City_  in your bed again." Leonard looked at him with confusion, and Sheldon added, "Vulcan hearing."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Guess we were gone a long time. And they do love that show _._ "

"That show frightens and confuses me," Sheldon replied.

"Let's go say hi." Leonard led the way to his bedroom. He stopped in the doorway. The television was still running, but both Penny and Amy were asleep.

Sheldon stood behind him. "Is that processed ginger ale? And microwave popcorn!"

"Shhhhh, they're asleep."

"I should wake Penny up and give her a piece of my mind. Giving a pregnant woman carcinogens!"

"Calm down, Sheldon. But should we wake them up, do you think?"

"We can wake up Penny so I can give her a strike, but Amy needs her sleep. She is with child, you know."

"Uh, yeah, you may have mentioned it a million times." Leonard tipped toed into the room and turned the television off before unfolding the blanket from the end of the bed and covering the two women.

Sheldon stood in the doorway and looked at his sleeping wife. Leonard came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. He tensed slightly at the touch but didn't shift away.

"Leonard, I'm worried I won't be able to be there," he whispered even more quietly than they had been. He didn't take his eyes off of Amy.

"Where?"

"In the room when Amy has the baby. I might pass out. Or something." He didn't tell Leonard about the nightmares.

"Well, will Amy be there?"

"What do you mean, will Amy be there? Of course she'll be there. Where else would she be? Unfortunately, this isn't like that episode of  _Voyager_ , where they beam the baby out." He looked down at his friend in confusion.

"Don't worry. If Amy is there, you'll be there, too."

Sheldon gave his friend an incredulous stare. "How can you be so confident?"

Leonard shrugged. "Because where ever Amy is, Sheldon is sure to follow."


	39. The Secret Garden

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2017**

**Primary Topic: _The Secret Garden_ by Frances Hodgson Burnett**

* * *

They retreated to that strange back room that all old houses seemed to have: it couldn't be a bedroom because it had too many doorways (without doors) and no closet, so it was destined to be part office (Leonard's desk), part mud room (because it included the back door, closest to the garage) and part sunroom (a wall of windows that caught the early morning light). It also included Penny's old blue love seat, which Amy had discovered was the perfect place to read a book on a sunny morning. And so she had decided it would be the perfect place for Book Club.

"Really, Amy? This room is so crowded and muddled," Sheldon grumbled.

"It will give us privacy. Isn't that the most important thing? Or do you want to invite Leonard and Penny to Book Club?" she asked, taking her seat.

Sheldon sighed deeply and sat next to her.

"I like the windows," she continued. "It makes me happy our new home will have so many of them."

That made Sheldon smile. "It shouldn't be long now. I presume you submitted the paint colors?"

"Of course," Amy smiled back. They looked at each other for a moment, smiling without the need to explain why to the other.

" _The Secret Garden_?" Sheldon finally asked. "I'm glad you picked a short book, since you spent forever making your decision this month."

"It wasn't that I couldn't decide. I wanted to wait until we knew what the baby was." Amy unconsciously placed her hand on her growing stomach, as she found herself doing whenever the baby came up in conversation. It had become a reflex at other times, too, ever since she had started to feel the baby flutter a few weeks prior. It was such a strange sensation, but she had quickly found it not only exciting and wondrous, but comforting. "Give me your hand."

Sheldon leaned in eagerly and let Amy put his palm where she had felt the faint nudging. Amy looked at his face, furrowed in concentration, and tried to breathe as quietly as possible for him. After a few seconds his face relaxed, and he looked up at her. "It's already stronger now," he whispered.

"Of course she's strong. She's our daughter."

* * *

Two weeks prior, they had been in their bedroom, discussing the next day's doctor's appointment. Sheldon was, as usual, on his laptop, asking questions and typing a list of discussion points. "You're certain you're experiencing fetal movement, correct?"

"Yes, Sheldon. You know you don't have to ask. I promised I'd tell you the second anything unusual happened. I was only unsure about it for the first couple of days. Besides, tomorrow's appointment is really about finding out the sex."

"No, it's really about measuring fetal heartbeat and head circumference, determining the location of the placenta, and ruling out physical abnormalities. The sex is a just a bonus. A necessary bonus, but a bonus nonetheless."

"I wonder what it would be like to not find out," Amy said with a shrug.

"What?" Sheldon swiveled in the chair they had set up with card table as a sort of make-shift office.

"I said I wonder-"

"I heard what you said!" Sheldon crossed his arms. "Why wouldn't you want to know? Why wouldn't you want to prepare properly? I don't understand how you can even entertain the idea of not finding out!"

"Sheldon, calm down. You didn't let me finish. I was just thinking aloud-" She was genuinely alarmed at his screeching tone.

"Are you telling me that if you could determine the identity of an unknown variable in an equation, you would choose to leave it half-solved? And you claim to be a scientist!" He stood and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later she heard the back door slam, too.

It was the first full-on shouting match they had had in a long time, and Amy didn't even understand how it had escalated into a shouting match. And was it a shouting match if Sheldon had been the only one screaming? She felt even worse because Leonard and Penny were in the living room; there could be no doubt they had heard every word and Sheldon would have had to march through there, although they were tactfully feigning deafness and blindness.

Amy did what she normally did when she was confused or angry or uneasy, she tried to read. But she couldn't concentrate, hurt and confusion gnawing at her. She lay on the bed for awhile in turmoil, just staring at the ceiling, before getting up.

She watched him through the office/mudroom/sunroom windows for several minutes. He sat outside, on the steps to the back yard, in the falling dusk, staring in front of him, wringing his hands. Just as the sun slipped over the horizon, Amy came to him with YooHoo in hand, sat down next to him, and they communed in stillness for awhile.

"It's your decision, you're the patient," he had finally said.

"No, it's our decision because it's our baby. We'll find out. I was only thinking about what it would be like to not find out," she answered. She took a deep breath. "One of our jobs as parents will be to set a good example. I think interrupting people before they finish their thoughts and jumping to conclusions will not be the best example to set."

Sheldon sighed. "I apologize. But not because I jumped to conclusions -" Amy raised her eyebrows "- but because I was rude and disrespectful to you."

"Try again."

Sheldon turned and looked at her, his own eyebrows raised. Amy steadily met his gaze. He swallowed and spoke again. "I apologize because I was rude, disrespectful, interrupted you while you sharing would could have been a valid point, and jumped to false conclusions."

"Apology accepted." She nodded and looked back out at the yard.

"Valid in a crazy, alternate universe," Sheldon mumbled. Amy bit her tongue to keep from smiling.

They communed in silence some more, until it was fully dark.

Nothing more was said on the topic until that magical moment they were watching their baby on the screen (surely a textbook example of a healthy fetus if there ever was one!), and the ultrasound technician told them with a smile they were having a girl.

Amy was thrilled immediately, so much so she started crying. She hadn't even realized how much she wanted a girl until it was finally coming true. This had alarmed Sheldon, who had over-reacted, and there was a small scene until everyone was calm; Amy was pretty certain there was some sort of code word in her chart somewhere for high maintenance couple.

Later, Penny and Bernadette had screamed on the phone, and they made plans to immediately meet up and go shopping.

"Why do we need baby clothes now? There's still twenty more weeks to go. And we have no where to put them," Sheldon asked.

She airily kissed him on the cheek before leaving him behind. "It's a silly female ritual that I happen to find thrilling. And a few baby outfits are not going to fill up our room."

It was later that evening, when she walked by their room on the way back from the bathroom, that she stopped abruptly. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at a pair of tiny pink socks in the middle of his palm.

She went to the doorway and smiled. "It's hard to believe how small they are, isn't it?"

Sheldon had nodded slowly without speaking.

"Oh." Amy walked to stand next to him and put her hand on his arm. "What's the matter?"

"They're so pink."

She breathed out with relief.  _Oh, it's just a color issue. I can't say I blame him._ "I know. It's almost impossible to get non-stereotypical baby clothes. Surely you remember me showing you everything when I got home. There are some outfits in other colors, too. And the Wonder Woman sleeper; I thought you'd love it."

"No, I mean . . . " Sheldon sighed. "It's illogical, but I assumed it would be a boy. I thought we would read comic books together and do science experiments together. Or play with Nerf swords and build Lego castles."

That statement prickled her. "You can still do those things with a girl, you know."

"I know. I'm not disappointed, exactly. It just feels strange. I'm . . . frightened." He looked at her then, and the look in his eyes made her regret her piqued words. "I don't know anything about girls. They've always baffled me."

Amy brushed the side of his face. "You figured me out."

"But I only have twenty weeks! I've known you for years, and I still can't figure out if you're being sarcastic at least twenty-five percent of the time!"

"Sheldon, the baby is not going to come out having tea parties or whatever it is that scares you. She certainly won't have mastered sarcasm yet."

"She might. She's related to you."

* * *

"She stopped," Sheldon said with a frown, pulling his hand away. Sitting up straight again, he asked, "Why did you want to read this book when you found we were having a girl?"

"Because it was one of my favorite books when I was a girl myself. I had a ridiculous crush on Colin for some reason." Sheldon raised his eyebrows and Amy flushed slightly. "I know it's silly, but there was something about him . . ."

"But he's selfish and petulant! Well, at least until Mary comes along."

Amy shrugged and tried to change the topic. "Did your sister love it as a girl, too?"

Sheldon snorted. "I doubt it. Missy still isn't able to read beyond the level required by  _People_ magazine."

"Oh. . . maybe you're right," Amy said with a small frown.

"Yes, I am. Let's hope our daughter doesn't turn out like her." He sighed. "Was it as good as you remembered?"

"Yes and no. I was surprised that it was so different than what I remembered. Not in a bad way, necessarily. The basic plot was the same, of course. But I seem to remember more action."

"That would have been nice."

"Yes, it did seem slow at times, which makes me wonder why so many children stick with it. And I remembered that Dickon was an animal lover, and when I read the parts about the fox and the crow and all that it seemed vaguely familiar; but I didn't remember that he was practically covered in so many animals all the time. It strained credulity, didn't it?"

"Incredulous and disturbing, if you think about all the germs and fleas those animals were probably harboring," Sheldon said with slight shiver.

Amy smiled. "But one thing I didn't remember that really impressed me was how well written it was. It's technically a children's book but the vocabulary and the language are lovely." She reached for her Kindle and found the passage she was looking for. "'One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live for ever and ever and ever.' There's a beautiful sentence about sunrise and another beautiful sentence about sunset, both quite lengthy, and then this: 'Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark-blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes.'"

Sheldon sighed gently. "It always sounds better when you read it aloud to me."

"Am I to infer that you didn't care for it?"

He shrugged. "It was fine. I'm not into gardening. I thought it was heavy-handed and obvious at times. Mary was a brat, but seeing what a brat Colin was made her realize how poor her behavior had been before and they both became more well-behaved. I think we would have understood that without being told it repeatedly."

"An adult probably would have, but it's a children's book. Sometimes you have to be obvious with children. Remember, their frontal lobes aren't developed yet."

"Didn't it bother you that they were so poorly behaved? Do you think it was because of what Martha said? 'Mother says is the two worst thing as can happen to a child is never to have his own way - or always to have it.' But she never says what is the right level of supervision, does she? If never having one's way is 100 and always having it zero, wouldn't it be helpful to have the integer that correlates to the correct amount of parental supervision? Are we to assume it's fifty? But what if it's really sixty? Or forty? Or fifty-two?"

Amy could tell from the tone in his voice, the slight tremble, that he wasn't talking about Mary and Colin and  _The Secret Garden_  anymore. "Sheldon, I think . . ." She paused to take a deeper breath and attempt to gather her thoughts. She thought of something she hadn't thought about in a long time, she supposed because it had become self-evident, as natural and as necessary as breathing to them. "Do you remember right before I moved in with you and we decided on a cadre to guide our relationship?"

"Of course."

"I think that maybe we should try that as a parenting method."

He was staring at her intently. "Go on."

"Well, obviously neither one of us had any experience with this. This entire conversation might end up being moot. I think we're likely to discover things we never know, both about babies and ourselves. I'm sure we'll make mistakes and do things we swore we'd never do." She paused again. "The thing about about our cadre, the one you and I operate in, is that we haven't discussed it since then, have we? Not as such as least."

Sheldon shook his head.

"But there are things that I hope we can agree are part of our framework: love, of course, respect, allowing self-expression, the importance of apologizing, the importance of accepting a sincere apology, the importance of talking things through, the importance of not bottling fears or sorrows up inside ourselves . . . My point is that we use that cadre as a the starting point for the cadre we want for our child. Or maybe all the parents of children in this world would laugh hysterically if they could hear me talking that way because I'm so naive or misguided."

Sheldon nodded slowly. "No, I think you're probably right. Sometimes I worry that I'm doing what all my friends accuse me of, overthinking something. People have been having babies and raising children for millennia, mostly successfully. And very few of those people were as intelligent as you and me. But I've never done anything this important before that I couldn't prepare for, not really. It makes me nervous."

"Oh, Sheldon." She scooted closer to him on couch. "I'm nervous, too. And you've done plenty of things you couldn't prepare for: you went to college so young, you taught in Germany, you moved to California, you took Leonard on as a roommate."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I fell in love with you."

Amy smiled and started to lean in for a kiss when she heard the sound of Penny's laugh. She leaned back quickly, frustrated at the broken mood. She really wished Leonard and Penny weren't home. The way Sheldon had just looked at her made her want to drag him to their bedroom and do dirty, dirty things to him.

Before she could speak, Sheldon did. "What do you think the 'Magic' that Colin was constantly talking about was referring to? At first, I was excited when he said he was going to do scientific experiments. But then there was all gibberish about making plants grow and the sun rise. Do you think it was Mother Nature or something like that?"

"I thought it was a reference to the power of positive thinking. Doesn't it even say that somewhere? That Colin believes he was going to get better and that was half the battle?"

"Yes, it does say that, but how does that explain the parts about the flowers and the power Magic had on them? Flowers can't think positively and believe in their own power to sprout."

"Maybe it's being left purposely vague so that the reader may draw his or her own conclusion." Amy shrugged.

"But why? I don't like it being vague. It's false advertising to talk about doing science experiments, only to provide your readers with vague pseudo-philosophical mumbo jumbo. And, besides you and me, what eight year child is going to read this and be able to interpret vague pseudo-philosophical mumbo jumbo?"

"You're wrong."

"What? How?"

"Because in a little over eight years there will be another child who will figure this out."

Sheldon gave her the same look he had given her a moment before, although he stayed firmly on side of the love seat. She continued, "I think it's a reference to Christian Science beliefs. Frances Hodgson Burnett was interested in the concept. The belief that all living things have an inherent self-healing power -"

"Hey, guys," Penny said, as she and Leonard came the door way and stuck their heads around, "sorry to interrupt this romantic conversation, but Leonard and I thought we'd walk down to the convenience store to get some ice cream. Want flavor do you guys want?"

"Every time you do that, the pint is half melted by the time you get home," Sheldon grumbled.

"So, no ice cream for you?" Penny asked.

"I didn't say that!" Sheldon protested. "Cookies and cream, per usual. Can't you keep it straight?"

Penny smiled at him while Leonard rolled his eyes.

"Actually, tonight I'd like salted caramel, if you can find it," Amy said.

"One cookies and cream and one salted caramel, coming up," Leonard said. "Don't get too hot and bothered talking about a book!" he called behind him, before he and Penny left.

Sheldon rolled his eyes before looking back her her. "Amy, why did you ask for salted caramel? Is it a pregnancy craving? I thought we both liked cookies and cream the best. But if it is a pregnancy craving, social convention dictates that I should be the one to procure it for you, not Leonard."

"Because, Dr. Cooper, salted caramel is not as common and may take longer to find. Come on, hurry up, let's get hot and bothered." She wiggled her eyebrows, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the bedroom.

* * *

They had barely scrambled back to the sofa in time. No sooner had Amy sat down and grabbed her Kindle than their friends returned.

"Good news, Ames! Our favorite store now carries Haagen-Das Salted Caramel Gelato!" Penny said.

"Great! Thank you." Amy put her book down, although she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Sheldon was still pretending to be immersed in his.

Then she noticed the goofy grin on Leonard's face. "Wow, Sheldon," he chuckled, "you're even smarter than I thought!"

"Of course I am," Sheldon said from behind his Kindle. "Why?"

"Because you're able to read upside down."


	40. Babymoon

**Babymoon**

* * *

_"Because, Dr. Cooper, salted caramel is not as common and may take longer to find. Come on, hurry up, let's get hot and bothered." She wiggled her eyebrows, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the bedroom._

* * *

It all started after the last Book Club; that was the last time Amy was sick.

Amy was aware of the phenomenon, of course. It was based on biological facts. Hormonal fluctuations could cause an increased sex drive in the second trimester. Increased blood flow to the pelvis, engorgement of the genitals, increased vaginal discharge: they all could lead to heightened sensations and sexual pleasure during pregnancy. But it was the last thing on her mind during the last half of her first trimester, when all she wanted to do was sleep. Or keep her food down. Sex was the last thing she wanted to think about. She felt disgusting, exhausted, and sick. Poor Sheldon, once that started he never once asked her for it. They were so rarely alone that she just cherished talking to him at those times she didn't feel like she could fall asleep or throw up. There were so many other things to talk about.

Then, blessedly, the gray curtain lifted from her. She felt amazing. Her energy was back, food tasted delicious again, she actually felt . . . well, almost pretty. After a few days, Sheldon noticed, too, and asked her about it. She smiled at him and told him the truth, that she finally felt like her body was a temple. She thought he would roll his eyes, but instead he smiled back with so much happiness it almost hurt. She felt like she was glowing.

She couldn't decide if he was actually watching her more that evening or if he had been watching her so closely the entire pregnancy, and she had been too fatigued to notice. It didn't matter, there was so much love in his eyes she just wanted to bask in it. But when he so intently watched her undress, she knew it was different. When she climbed into bed next to him, he put his hand over her stomach. She wondered how long he had noticed; even she wasn't sure if she imagining it at times. But her skirts were definitely getting tighter. Bursting with pride and love at this physical manifestation of their success, she smiled at him again. She was surprised to find she really, desperately wanted to make love to him. However, he had already put on his pajamas, and she knew he would never consent with Leonard and Penny at home, so she didn't even try.

She had a crazy sex dream that night, so vivid, and she awoke with a start. She didn't just want him, her body demanded him. Fortunately, Sheldon's libido was almost as large as his brain, and,  _yes, yes!,_  it took almost nothing to convince him when he was awake. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. She was dying for his touch and she couldn't believe it was happening so fast and in this position, too! . . . She held onto him with all her might, never wanting these sensations to leave her. It came in a wave so strong it was like being pulled down into a riptide. She tried to curl into his shoulder but she couldn't be quiet, she had no control over herself. Suddenly, he stopped.

"Amy, are you okay? Am I hurting you?"

She was certain she would die if he didn't start moving again. "Sheldon, don't you dare stop! It's amazing!"

Everything was pulsing again and  _was it ever this good?_  and the riptide came once more and she didn't care who heard and she wanted everyone to know how amazing this was!

It only got better for the next few weeks; her body was certainly changing now, and she never felt more feminine. She felt so blessed to be a woman, to have been entrusted with this most important task, to have Sheldon give her this wonderful gift, to have Sheldon's baby growing inside of her. She felt how lovingly he looked at her body, and, for the first time in her life, she genuinely felt beautiful. All of this beauty and love and power swirled around her, and all she wanted was for Sheldon to touch her, to share it with her.

Fortunately, Sheldon seemed to sense this change in her, and he also could not resist being with her. It was like those first few heady weeks when she felt parched without his touch, without his body wrapped up in her, not knowing where he stopped and she began. She wondered what Sheldon was thinking, but she knew that he was probably not thinking at all, she could see it in his face, how he had given himself over to this. And, quite honestly, she was too busy riding the riptides out to sea.

Pleasure from his hands. Pleasure from his mouth. Pleasure from his breath on her ear. Pleasure from his . . . Pleasure from every part of her he touched. She was almost afraid his very look would pleasure her in the middle of a crowded room.

She tried so hard, for him, to curl into his shoulder and deepen her cries into moans. But she was amazed to find he seemed not to care anymore. She was a goddess, she was a diva, she was a siren.

One day, somewhere in the middle of this babymoon (technically, it was the wrong definition, she knew, but it sounded so right), she decided to discuss it at girls night.

"Bernadette, when you were pregnant, did you find your libido exponentially increased during your second trimester?" she asked.

"Hmmm," Bernadette thought. "Yeah, there was a week or two there I remember being in the mood more than usual. I don't know if I'd use the word exponential, though."

"Did Howard appreciate this change?"

"He's a man, isn't he?" Penny asked.

They all shared a smile.

Amy asked another question. "What about your orgasms? Did they seem better, stronger?"

Bernadette looked alarmed. "Well, that's a personal question. But, okay, I guess we've already crossed that bridge. I don't remember that, so, no, I don't think so. I wasn't sick nearly as bad as you were, we'd been having sex all along. Maybe you just forgot."

"No, I definitely didn't forget. I would have remembered these. Also, I find I am able to achieve orgasm more easily and have more at a time. Last night, for example, I believe I had four in a row. At least three, it always gets a little muddled near the end."

For once, Bernadette noticed that Penny didn't choke on her wine at Amy's over sharing. "Amy, I'm sorry, but I just don't think so. Just because it's biologically possible doesn't mean it actually happens on a regular basis. Not without using a . . . well, you know. Right, Penny? I mean, four orgasms in a row?"

"Oh, I'm sure Amy's telling the truth," Penny said. "Trust me."

* * *

Sheldon first learned of the phenomenon in the hours he spent doing research on pregnancy and the father's role in said experience while Amy slept. Poor Amy, she slept a lot those first few weeks. And she was sick, not every day, but too much. He thought it sounded like anecdotal pseudo-science poppycock, and he wanted to ask Amy about it. However, he didn't want to wake her up, and he certainly didn't want to ask her about it while she was vomiting. Obviously, he was not going to bring it up in front of Leonard or Penny. Their non-sleeping, non-vomiting, both-together-alone-in-the-same-room times were so precious they became filled with other, more important topics, and it never came up. Not that he believed it, anyway.

Then something happened. One week, she wasn't sick at all. The same week, he noticed she slept less. And her skin, what was it about her skin? Was she actually glowing? He asked Amy how she felt, and she smiled, truly smiled, and she said she had never felt better. She said she finally felt like her body was a temple. He dismissed that as another example of her overly sentimental nature, but he smiled back at her because her happiness was so great it almost hurt.

He couldn't stop looking at her all evening, across the table at dinner, next to him on the sofa while they watched a movie. She was magnificent. That night, he scrambled into bed before her, just to watch her undress, waiting to see the new change he had just noticed that week. It wasn't much, and once she was dressed it wasn't noticeable, but it was there. When she joined him, he put his hand over this new wondrous evidence of their success, and Amy smiled at him again. In the midst of all his pride and love, he was surprised to find he really, desperately wanted to make love to her. However, Penny and Leonard were home and he wasn't sure if Amy would be willing, so he didn't broach the topic.

She woke him in the middle of the night, and, even in the midst of his initial confusion, something inside of him cried out, and,  _yes, yes!_ , Amy wanted him, too. It reminded him, oddly, of the first time. He was so starved for her and she felt even better than he remembered ( _how long has it been?_ ) and he couldn't think straight and he tried so hard to slow down and . . . Despite all that, she clung to him like he was a god and she cried out, so long and hard he was actually frightened. Enough to penetrate the fog and make him stop.

"Amy, are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He was certain his heart had stopped beating.

"Sheldon, don't you dare stop! It's amazing!"

His heart ran away from his chest and  _was it always this good?_  and she cried out again and he didn't care if they woke the whole neighborhood and  _this is amazing!_

It only got worse for the next few weeks; her body kept changing before his eyes, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He had always thought Amy was beautiful, but he had never wanted or needed to explain it or quantify it. He loved her beautiful mind, ergo she was beautiful. But now he knew he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. As precious as she had been to him, now she was somehow more precious. She was literally pouring herself into this gift she was giving him, undertaking this most important task for him, and all he wanted to do was touch her, to share it with her.

Fortunately, a change had come over Amy, too, and she wanted to be touched all the time. It was like that those first few heady weeks when he couldn't even work for thinking about getting her home and losing himself in her. He thought, again, about asking Amy about it, but, and this was completely illogical, he didn't care. And, quite honestly, he was too busy ravishing her.

Middle of the night sex. Early morning sex. Alone in the house sex. Guest bed sex. Guest room floor sex. Quick-get-a-blanket-for-the-sofa sex. Leonard-and-Penny-went-for-ice-cream sex.

He gave up trying to keep her quiet. He was amazed to find he could do no wrong. She had orgasms like ones he always thought were made up for movies. He was virile, he was potent, he was a stud.

One day, somewhere in the middle of this babymoon (Amy used this word, he had never heard it before, he thought it was strange but appropriate), he noticed a sudden silence fall over the table in the cafeteria when he joined his friends for lunch. It was the type of silence that he believed meant they were talking about him, but he was never certain.

"Sheldon, how is Amy?" Raj asked after what Sheldon perceived as a slightly longer than normal pause.

"Quite well, thank you. We had a doctor's appointment yesterday and everything is progressing as it should. Even Amy's uterus is an exemplary specimen of human biology."

"Sooo, no pregnancy side effects?" Howard asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Leonard's stupid grin confirmed his suspicions. Well, he would not discuss this, and they all knew it. "Both the nausea and the fatigue have subsided. She reports that she feels excellent."

"I bet she does," Howard muttered under his breath. Sheldon ignored it.

"You know, Sheldon, I heard somewhere once that pregnant women can go through a horny phase," Raj said. Leonard and Howard snickered.

Sheldon put his fork down with clang, looking around at all his friends, acting like teenage boys. He was appalled that they would discuss Amy like that. He was also, unexpectedly, extremely proud of himself.

"Fine. If you must know, Amy's libido has increased exponentially. I find this knowledge, coupled with the allure of her pregnant body, highly arousing. We are enjoying frequent coitus, and, when we do, the increased blood flow to her genitals allows me to bring her to orgasm multiple times." Sheldon clamped his mouth shut, mortified.  _I should not have said that. What came over me?_  However, the looks on Howard and Raj's faces were worth it.

"Ughh," they said in unison, pushing their trays away from them. Leonard continued to eat.

"Really, dude, how can you eat after that?" Raj asked him.

"Well, you asked, so it's your own fault. And," Leonard took another bite, "that's the G-rated version. Trust me."

* * *

And so, that night, when Leonard and Penny went to get ice cream, Sheldon found himself propped up on one arm to avoid putting too much pressure on Amy's blossoming stomach. Normally he would have disliked being further away from her, but he had to admit that given their limited time frame the extra space made it easier for him to stimulate her and bring her to climax. Not that it took much lately.

Although it was very difficult to think at a time like this, two thoughts came to him. One: That this night was probably the last hurrah of the babymoon, the frenzied feverish need. It had been dwindling for a couple of weeks now. He would miss it. Two: It was getting more difficult to make love this way, and he wasn't sure how much longer they would be able to do it. He would miss it, looking down on her, her hair spilled over the bed, her body arching up toward him -

Then she rose to her zenith beneath him, and he watched her and loved her, unable to contain his own. Together they were harmony, together they were motion, together they were a crescendo.

* * *

**_Thank you for your reviews!_ **


	41. Brave New World

**_Thank you to RachelLeah23 for this book suggestion!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2017**

**Primary Topic: _Brave New World_ by Aldous Huxley**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Children of Men_  by P.D. James,  _The Blue Lagoon_  by H. De Vere Stacpoole,  
** **_The Canterbury Tales_  by Geoffrey Chaucer,  _The Night Circus_  by Erin Morgenstern**

* * *

Two or three times a year, something came over Amy and she talked - no, prattled - nonstop for at least an hour about absolute nonsense. Sheldon had tried to pinpoint the cause of these discourses, but he had failed so far. They did not seem to be tied to her menses or the proximity to a Girls Night or even - he knew he was grasping here - the course of the Earth's rotation. Usually, his only recourse was to sigh softly, get up quietly, and leave the room. He wasn't even sure she noticed and stopped talking when he did so. At any rate, he found sweet silence and that's all that mattered to him.

But, that night, watching his obviously pregnant wife go into each empty room in turn, endlessly discussing empty bookcases and furniture placement and window coverings and rugs, interrupting herself to tell Siri to add things to her list, Sheldon wouldn't have stopped listening to her for the world.

_She is so beautiful. And so very happy._

Sheldon smiled softly behind her as he followed, the key still shiny new in his palm. Tomorrow would be busy, with new furniture being delivered and Amy shopping with Raj for what he presumed would be His and Hers towels. Then everyone was coming here, for his male friends to help him set up the electronics and the network, and the ladies to . . . do whatever it was the females did. But then tomorrow night, at last!, they would go to sleep here, in their new home. Although he allowed his mind to wonder some ( _Why do I smell paint? They were supposed to use low VOC; Amy is with child! Is that construction dust in the corner? We should have brought a Swiffer._ ), he knew his primary function was to nod at the appropriate times.

Finally, in the baby's room, she asked him a direct question. "Sheldon, be honest. Do you think this color is too purple? I wanted a soothing mid-tone dove gray that maybe caught some lavender glow in the evenings to stimulate relaxation, but I think this reads as purple."

Sheldon was in a quandary. It just looked like gray - just gray - to him, but then Amy claimed to see all sorts of colors that he never knew existed. If he said that, though, Amy would be disappointed over the lack of this supposed lavender glow ( _what does that even mean?_ ). However, if he said it looked purple, which he inferred she definitely did not want, she might cry.  _Pregnancy hormones are very confusing._ He looked at her furrowed brow and reminded himself of how incredibly happy she was two minutes ago. That made him smile, and he said, "It will be perfect."

The worry vanished, Amy smiled again and came to give him a sideways hug. "It will be Sheldon, won't it?"  _Ah ha! It worked!_

"Of course." He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. Because, at that moment, everything finally felt perfect again. Although he knew they could never repay Leonard and Penny's generosity, all he had wanted for months was to just be alone with Amy again. Truly alone. Just for a moment, holding her, looking into that very special room, he thought he saw a lavender glow.

Until his stomach growled loudly.

Amy pulled away from him. "Oh, the pizza is probably getting cold."

They walked back into their great room, which felt very great indeed with the sounds of their footsteps echoing in the empty space, and over to the kitchen island.

"Amy, are you sure you want to eat here? There's no furniture. We'll have to sit on the floor, and I'm sure that won't be comfortable for you."

"I'm pregnant, not broken. I'll be fine. Besides, I came prepared." She picked up the absolutely enormous bag she had insisted on bringing along. She pulled out a blanket and two toss pillows from Leonard and Penny's couch. "Picnicking on the floor of your first home is a tradition."

"I think it's an overly sentimental romantic superstition for those of lesser minds."

"Well, it was sentiment and romance that got us in this position in the first place," Amy said, shaking out the blanket until it billowed onto the floor between them.

Sheldon bent down to help straighten it out, grinning to himself. She remembered. "And a fire. That played a pretty big role."

"Yes," she replied curtly. Amy threw the pillows down. She put her arm out for support, and Sheldon held it as she lowered herself down.

"I'm sorry, Amy, I didn't mean to spoil the mood." Sheldon grabbed the pizza box and sat down next to her.

She shrugged. "You didn't. It's the truth." Reaching back into the bag, she pulled out two bottles of water. She handed one to Sheldon and then lifted hers up for a toast. "To our forever home."

Sheldon felt lump in his throat as the bottles touched.  _I'm so very happy, too._ "Book Club?"

"Yes," she said as she opened the pizza box. "Also, we need to decide on a name."

"A name? We have two more months. I haven't finished analyzing my ideas before submitting my final short list of proposals." Sheldon took a bite.

"I want to decide now. I want a name. It feels weird not to have a name when we talk about her. Also, are you aware that Raj and Howard are calling her Shama? And I heard Penny say it yesterday!"

Sheldon cringed.  _Amy is right, we need a name._  "But tonight? We don't have a whiteboard. Or even any paper."

"I know. I don't want to overthink it. I think a name is a very personal, and, dare I say it, emotional decision. I just want us to decide. Just because we like it, because of how it makes us feel, I don't know, happy." Amy shrugged.

Sheldon looked at her in amazement.  _This is the same woman who pondered paint colors with more intensity than I pondered my last equation!_  "Are you well, Amy?"

"Quite well. And quite serious. This is what we'll do. One of us will say a name and the other person will say the first thing that comes to mind. We won't think too much about it."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"We'll talk about the book at the same time." Amy smirked at him before taking a bite of pizza.

He had the uneasy feeling this was all part of a plan of which he was just now aware, even though it had been thoroughly plotted in advance by his wife. It was not an unusual feeling. He sighed. "Okay, we can try it. I guess we still have two months if we change our minds."

"Good. You first," Amy said. "And tell me why you picked  _Brave New World_."

"Why do I have to go first?" Sheldon asked. "I should think it would be obvious why I picked it. Fetal development and infant conditioning have been on my mind lately."

"Because I said so." Amy paused. "I almost didn't read it." She dove into a another bite of pizza, too quickly Sheldon thought.

"I've always liked Marie. And what did you say?"

"No to Marie." She swallowed and sighed. "At first, it was so technical and cold and sterile, and it wasn't at all how I feel, how I want to feel, about babies that I almost couldn't read it. Those first couple of chapters just made me sad and angry, I guess."

"No to Marie, just like that? Shouldn't we discuss it?" Sheldon took a drink of water. "I was debating between  _Brave New World_ and  _Children of Men_ , but I was worried when I read the synopsis of  _Children of Men_  that it would be too dark. But this is too, isn't it? I'm sorry you didn't like it."

"I said we would say the first thing that comes to mind. Free association." She paused and looked at him. "Okay. Marie sounds too much like your mother's name, it will get confusing. And it's too plain."

_Oh, I hadn't thought of that before._  "Maybe you're right, and it would be confusing. Your turn."

"I like both Elizabeth and Eleanor. And it's not that I didn't like the book. Once it got to the actual story, I found it intriguing and compelling. It was just difficult right now, philosophically, for me. The right book at the wrong time, I think. And both  _Brave New World_  and  _Children of Men_  are set in a dystopian world, which is dark by definition."

"Jane Austen heroines? Why am I not surprised? But, no, too many syllables." He sighed. "Maybe I should have picked a utopian novel about babies. Is there one? And what do you mean by the right book at the wrong time? That doesn't make any sense to me."

"Too many syllables?" Amy titled her head. "Well, there's  _The Blue Lagoon_ , but they're cousins so it's weird. A book can be an excellent book, as I came to believe  _Brave New World_  is, but I was reading it at the wrong time in my life, so it unsettled me. It think it's very well written, the story is gripping, the characters are well-drawn, the details are thorough, but . . . well, the whole idea is too uncomfortable for me right now. That mothers are worse than useless, that they're actually considered obscene."

"Your name is short, so you may not have realized that any name with multiple syllables can more easily be turned into a cruel nick name." Sheldon ate another bite of pizza before continuing. "But isn't this book an attempt to prove the fallacy of that argument? Isn't it an attempt to prove that traditional pregnancy and motherhood are necessary to well-balanced individuals? If you think about it that way, it's upholding motherhood as the most noble thing a person can do."

Amy frowned. "Perhaps you're right."

"About the names or the book?"

"Both. Even if I look at it your way, which I think is a valid interpretation of the book although I'm not certain I entirely agree, where are the fathers in the novel? No where. Even in this book, the baby is entirely the mother's responsibility."

Sheldon heard the warning bell go off in his brain. Fathers were a very touchy subject with Amy. "Uh, well, whatever the meaning of fatherhood in this book may be, you must believe me that I plan on taking my role very seriously. I promise I'll do the best I can." He stopped and licked his lips.  _Was that the right thing to have said? Should I move back to the other topic of conversation?_  "Um, Zelda?"

Amy smiled softly. _Success!_  "Thank you, Sheldon, I know. You'll be a wonderful father, of that I'm sure. And it's just a book. See what I mean? Wrong time to read this, I think." She paused. "I think it's safe to assume you've never read a Zelda Fitzgerald novel, so I presume you're referencing the video game character. No."

"But it's a good name! It's unique, it's strong, it's fun to say."

"As a name, I don't disagree with you. I can see its appeal. But everyone is going to think of the video game first and assume we named her after that. I want her have a name that's not indelibly linked to someone or something famous. I like Laura, it's a neutral name. And you still haven't said what you thought of the book."

"Laura? Laura Ingells Wilder, the famous author? That's not indelible? And you thought Marie was plain! Diana?" He took a drink of water. "As for the book, I liked it, because it was so interesting. I agree with you the details are precise and astute, even if improbable."

"Diana? Where did that come from?" She reached over into the bag again and took out a bottle of Tums.

_What did she bring, Hermione Granger's handbag?_ Instead, he asked, "Amy, Tums again? Aren't you worried you'll take too many of them?"

"Sheldon, you've already asked my doctor that. At two different appointments, as I recall. Apparently we're having a hairy baby."

"Hairy baby!" He almost spilled his water.

"It's an old wives tale. The more heartburn you have the more hair the baby will have. " She looked up at him. "On its head, Sheldon, where it's supposed to be, calm down."

"That's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. Since when do you believe in old wives tales?"

"Diana?" was Amy's only answer.

Sheldon did not miss the warning tone in her voice. "It's  _Wonder Woman_ 's real name."

"But it has syllables. Everyone will call her Di, as in Princess Di. Caroline and Cecilia both have too many syllables, too, don't they? And, returning to Book Club, there was something I wanted to ask you about. There's the scene near the end when The Controller explained how science is dangerous, that it leads to discovery and advancement, and so it must be kept muzzled. Surely you hated that."

"Thanks, now you've ruined Diana. And, yes, Caroline is out. You listen to that song too much as it is. Cecilia, like that other song? Of course I hated that. It made me think, though, about the different levels of science. At the beginning of the book, when the scientific process of making babies is explained, it's written in such a way that it sounds very scholarly, that the employees working are scientists and they know the research put into what they're doing. But then, in this scene, The Controller points out that they're not real scientists because they aren't doing research, they're merely following recipes that mustn't be changed. It made me glad that we're both in research, that we exercise our brains every day."

"Since when do you know so much about American pop standards? And, no, I meant Cecilia as the character in  _The Canterbury Tales._ And it's similar to the name of my favorite character in _The Night Circus,_  Celia, remember?" Amy smiled. "I think Book Club is a form of brain exercise, too, don't you? Even in this book, it's not just science that is banned, it's also the arts. Because to read something new makes you think something new, and, if it's really profound, can even make you change your outlook on life and maybe some of your actions."

"Oh. But, yes too many syllables. Iris? Short, feminine, a biological part of the human body. Maybe Book Club is like yoga for the brain. I did yoga once with Penny. It looks absurd, but it's actually very good for you because it makes you more flexible. I looked it up before I agreed."

Amy laughed. "I love the idea of Book Club as mental yoga! Work can be sometimes be like lifting weights or running a marathon, but Book Club is where we come to calm our breathing and free our minds. And you can't fool me, it's also Iris West in  _The Flash_. No. Flower names are for cats, not humans."

"When you talk about Book Club that way, you make us sound like hippies at a love-in." Sheldon shook his head and sighed deeply. "Amy, I don't think this a good way to come up with a name. All we've thought of are the negatives, not any positives. It seems your theory was wrong, and it's too distracting."

"Or it was distracting in exactly the right way," Amy mumbled and then paused, took in a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye, in that way she did sometimes that felt deeper than normal. "Ada?"

Sheldon's heart pitter-pattered, and Amy's gaze was too much for him. He looked down at his lap and whispered, "After Ada, Countess of Lovelace? The first person to create an algorithm intended to be carried out by a computer?"

"If you like. But," Amy replied softly, "I was thinking of your grandmother."

If Amy's goal was to find a personal and emotional name, she could not have discovered a better one. Sheldon looked back up at Amy and watched a small smile spread across her face. It had never occurred to him until that second how similar MeeMaw's given name was to Amy's. "Yes."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and then Sheldon said slowly, feeling the words in his mouth, "Ada Fowler-Cooper. Yes. What were you thinking for a middle name?"

"Fowler. Her middle name will be Fowler."

"But won't her last name be Fowler-Cooper?"

"With a hyphen?" Amy asked. Sheldon nodded. "No. I don't like hyphenated names. They're too complicated and confusing. I want her to have the choice to hyphenate her name herself in the future if she wants. Her last name will be Cooper."

"Amy, that's not fair to you. She is both of our progeny. And you're doing all the hard work."

"Believe me, my hard work has not escaped my notice. At least for now. Sheldon, please," she took his hand and squeezed it, "let me give you this."

"Amy, you've already given me so much. Not the least of which is incubating our  _homo novus_. I can't let you do this, too."

"I want to. I really want to. I wanted a baby not just for me, you know. I wanted to give you this. Perhaps it's all hormones or evolutionary constructs, but it's very important to me to have your child, with your DNA, with your name."

He couldn't explain it, but Sheldon actually felt like crying.  _What fresh hell is this? Sympathy hormones?_  It had been such an overwhelming day: a new home, Amy expressing her faith that he would be a good father, naming the baby after MeeMaw, and now this.  _I am so lucky that this wonderful woman is the mother of my child._ "Yes."

"So, it's decided?"

"Yes." Sheldon gave another nod. He knew they wouldn't change their minds now. And it seemed that Book Club was over. "Should we pack up and go back hom - to Leonard and Penny's?"

"There is one other tradition to celebrate a new home, you know," she smirked and winked at him.


	42. Anatomical Appreciation

**Anatomical Appreciation**

* * *

_"Should we pack up and go back hom - to Leonard and Penny's?"_

_"There is one other tradition to celebrate a new home, you know," she smirked and winked at him._

* * *

"I'm not sure this a good idea, Amy," Sheldon said, watching the numerous jets of water spraying in the glass enclosed shower. "We don't have the best track record in the shower."

"Dr. Cooper, you underestimate me," Amy said with a smirk, enjoying the sight of Sheldon's naked backside. "Why do you think I insisted on the master bathroom upgrade, complete with walk-in shower including a built-in bench?"

"Because you're as dedicated to personal hygiene as I am?" Sheldon asked, turning around to look at her.

She laughed. "Okay, maybe that too. Come on, let's give it a whirl."

Taking Sheldon's hand, she opened the shower door and stepped into the streams of shooting water. "Oh, Sheldon, this is amazing!"

"Wow, that's a lot of pressure," he said, coming in behind her.

"Good, I like it that way," Amy said as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

"Pun intended?" Sheldon asked.

"No. Not even a pun. I like a lot water pressure in the shower."

"Me too." She opened her eyes to see Sheldon watching her very closely, his hair wet and plastered against his head. "Amy, are you sure? You might slip and fall, which could be detrimental in your present condition . . ."

She leaned closer to him, as close as she could given her present condition, and ran her hand through his hair so that it spiked up.  _I do so love bad boy Sheldon. Even sexier than worry wart Sheldon._  "You'll just have to hold on to me very tightly." She stood on her tip toes to kiss him.

"I promise I'll never let go," he answered in a husky whisper.

Amy pushed him against the back wall and pulled his face down to hers. True to his promise, Sheldon wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around her. It was utterly delicious, making out with her handsome husband, running her hands over his wet chest, the force of the water massaging their bodies. They would break for air, Amy running her hand through her own hair to push it back, Sheldon shaking his head, before diving in again.  _Breathing is over-rated._

"Amy?" Sheldon finally asked, his voice and his eyes full of desire.

"I think you should sit," she answered.

He nodded and, still holding her hand, sat on the tiled bench. She saw one of her favorite things, the look that passed over his face when he got a new idea. He didn't share it, though, which meant he didn't think it was sexy. (Twenty-seven hours later: "I wonder if anyone makes laminated comic books. Then I could read them sitting in the shower.") She smiled at him and moved to straddle him, before pausing.

"Um, scoot out a little. That angle is too sharp. I'm not as thin as I once was," she instructed.

Sheldon obliged and leaned back against the wall once more. He took what used to be her waist, and, helping her lower herself down and around him, took a sharp breath.

"Good?" Amy asked, wondering, not of the first time, if she weighed too much for this anymore.

"Very good," Sheldon said. "And you?"

"Good." She tried an experimental shift forward and back, as it was not the same angle she was used to straddling him in bed, and the tiles were harder against her knees than the soft mattress. "Is that enough?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, leaning in for a deep kiss, breaking it slowly, sucking on her lower lip as they parted. Amy had managed a few more shifts, and Sheldon lowered his hands to her posterior to help her find a rhythm, the slow, dreamy one she knew he preferred.

She leaned her head back as some of her hair had fallen forward, and she wanted the power of the water to smooth it away again. She left her neck back as Sheldon started a slow and sensual progression of kisses down to her collarbones.

"Mmmmm, Sheldon." Then his tongue made contact with one of her nipples, and she jerked. "Ohhhhh, Sheldon."

She wasn't quite sure what she had deserve the wonderful things Sheldon was doing to her breasts, but she wasn't going to ask. Her back arched over and over again, the tugging and kissing and sucking and licking a never ending stream of pleasure. He would love one for awhile, and then leave it to love the other before the other. After what felt like years, Sheldon leaned back to take a breath. Amy took the opportunity to lean closer to him.

"I have to say, Amy, your breasts are very impressive these days."

She giggled and replied, "And all this time I thought you were a butt man."

Sheldon squeezed her bottom, which he had not let go of all along, and started moving her faster. She put her arms on his shoulders to comply with his wishes, and did what she could to speed up as well.

"You're wrong," he whispered in her ear, "I've always been an Amy man."

If Amy had been honest, up until that moment, other than her breasts, the rest of her was thinking that shower sex was over-rated. She was in an awkward position, compounded by pregnancy, no doubt, and the jets of water, which would be delightful for actual cleaning, were a becoming a bit too much. But, in that second, with those words, Sheldon had elevated the experience. She held on tightly to him, as he held on tightly to her, and they worked together until she felt his fingers curl on her posterior and she let herself go with him.

She leaned back again to catch her breath. It had not been the riptide pulling her down that so many orgasms during her pregnancy had been, but she wasn't disappointed in the least. She smiled at Sheldon, and he gave her his goofy grin back. "Help me up."

He nodded and held on to her, just as he had promised, until she was sitting beside him. She leaned against his shoulder.

"That was definitely better than last time we were in the shower," he said.

Amy chuckled.

"It wasn't funny!" he protested.

"No, not then. But it's kind of funny now."

She felt Sheldon shake his head slightly beside her before he asked, "Do you mind if I turn the water off?"

"Please do."

With the jets and showered turned off, a stillness settled over the bathroom. Amy leaned in even closer to Sheldon, who rested his hand on her knee.

"Amy?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Did you enjoy that?"

She lifted her head slightly. "Yeeesss."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought there was a moment, near the end . . . I thought you seemed uncomfortable."

"I was, a little." Then she added in a rush, "But I'm perfectly fine now."

"Are you worried about how much longer we can do this?"

"I didn't anticipate shower sex becoming a daily occurrence."

"No, I meant . . . how long will we'll be able to make love, in general."

Amy sighed softly. "I knew what you meant." She paused. "How many times have you read  _What to Expect When You're Expecting_?"

"Fourteen."

"And how many times have you studied almost every page of babycenter .com?"

"It varies based on the page, but an average of four."

"So you know the answer. We can make love as long as we feel like it." She took a breath. "I'm sure it will probably start to drop off naturally. We've already had to give up on our favorite position. And, well, after the baby . . . it's going to a big adjustment in more ways than one. But we have two months until then. I just want to enjoy it as long as we can."

"But you promise you'll tell me if it becomes disagreeable?"

"Of course."

Sheldon sighed again. "I don't want to get up and get dressed and drive back to Leonard and Penny's."

"We don't have to." Amy lifted her head to look at his confused face. "You've underestimated me once again. You mocked me for bringing a large bag, but I had a plan. There's another blanket in there."

"But where would we sleep? We don't have any furniture yet."

"There's plush new carpet in our bedroom."

"Which is not a bed."

"Come one! It will be fun! It will be like camping! But without bugs and dirt and nature and all the things we hate!"

Sheldon shook his head softly before kissing her forehead. "Fine. We'll try it. But you have to promise to tell me if it's too uncomfortable for you." He stood and put his hand out to her. "Let's get dried off before we get too cold."

Twenty minutes later, Amy's eyelids were closing as she lay on the floor of their new bedroom with Sheldon, between too blankets, the toss pillows they had sat on earlier under their heads.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered.

"Yes?" Amy opened her eyes.

"Are you a butt woman? I see you looking my posterior when I'm naked."

Amy smiled. "Yes, but that's not all."

"Is it my legs? They're quite long, you've commented on that before."

"Yes, but that's not all."

"My hands? You're always saying I have beautiful hands."

"You do. And you know how to use them. But no."

"My eyes?"

"Yes, but that's not all."

"Oh! I've got it! My eyebrow!"

Amy laughed. "Most certainly, but that's not all."

"What then?"

She reached out behind her to pull him closer, and he obliged by wrapping his arm around her swollen stomach.

"I'm a Sheldon woman."

He kissed her shoulder before she felt his arm relax, his palm on her belly, holding both her and their daughter as they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	43. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2018**

**Primary Topic: _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_  by Agatha Christie**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Who Killed Roger Ackroyd? The Mystery Behind the Agatha Christie Mystery_  by Pierre Bayard,  _Oedipus Rex_  by Sophocles**

* * *

Amy scratched the itchy skin on her enormous stomach before bracing her hand on the edge of the desk and pushing herself upright. _This is getting difficult. I'm so fat. Even my ankles._

Not that Sheldon noticed. He was, once again, pacing frantically back and forth in the space between the coffee table and the television, mumbling to himself as he flipped flash cards. He had been immersed in them all day, from the moment he woke up.  _He probably has a laminated set for the shower._

"Sheldon, what are you doing?" she asked as she walked ( _waddled_ ) toward him. Even though she knew the answer.

"Quizzing myself with the flashcards I made during our childbirth class. Preparation is essential. Today is the day." He didn't stop pacing as Amy walked ( _squeezed_ ) past him.

"Today is most certainly not the day." She sat down, with effort, on the couch.

"It could be. How can you be so sure?"

"First, it's after eight -"

"8:17." Sheldon interrupted her.

"Yes, it's 8:17, so that means the day is almost over -"

"The day is only eighty-three percent over. Seventeen percent left." Another interruption.

"Okay, fine, eight-three percent over. Second, today is my due date and less than five percent of babies are born on their due date. Third, even if I go into labor right now the likelihood of the baby being born in the seventeen percent of the day that is left is very small. Fourth, tonight, if you recall, is Book Club Night. Our important life events cannot always happen on Book Club Night. The chances of that are astronomical. In fact, the number of important things that have already happened to us on Book Club Night are an amazing anomaly. Statistically, we're more likely to get struck by lightening. So, no, I will not go into labor tonight."

Sheldon stopped pacing and moved swiftly to his white board. Although Amy was curious about what precipitated this sudden change, she was too pleased that he had stopped pacing to ask. She picked up her Kindle.

"Amy?"

"Yes?"

"What type of events would qualify as important life events? And could you rank them, ten being the most important event and then on a decreasing scale?" He was already scribbling on his board.

Amy put down her Kindle with a heavy sigh. "What are you doing now?" she whined.

"I'm working on the statistical probability that the baby could be born today, based on all the factors you mentioned. And also testing your hypothesis that we are more likely to be struck by lightening."

"Sheldon!" she yelled.

"What?" He turned to her, his eyes wide.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I am always punctual, and this is my offspring. However, my sister is the least punctual person I know. Whether or not the baby arrives today may determine our daughter's future destiny."

"You cannot determine a person's destiny based on when they were born. Someone already tried. It's called a horoscope, which I'm sure you believe is hippy poppycock."

"This is a mathematical formula, not a horoscope," Sheldon protested.

"You can't determine everything based on a mathematical formula, either."

He cocked his head. "I'm not sure that's an accurate statement. I'll work on that next."

"Please stop or I will come over there and throw your markers out the window!" she yelled.

Sheldon jerked and raised his eyebrows alarmingly high.

Amy took a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm sorry. I am uncomfortable and tired and ugly and huge and, quite frankly, cranky. My hands are swollen and my stomach itches like mad. And you're making me anxious, with all your pacing and manic calculating. Could you please just sit down and talk to me? The version of you that is my husband and not the circa 2010 version."

He seemed to bite off a statement before capping the marker and coming to sit beside her on the sofa, in his spot. "I'm sorry, Amy. I'm nervous."

He rubbed his palms on his pant legs, in what Amy thought was an uncalculated demonstration of his anxiety. She reached out to still his hand with hers. "It's okay. I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. Uncomfortable, ugly, and cranky, remember?"

He turned to look at her. "Not ugly. Never ugly."

She smiled at him. "Why don't we talk about the book? You were too busy with your flash cards at dinner. It might calm us both down."

"Yes, maybe you're right," Sheldon nodded. "I have to say, I cannot figure out why you picked this book right now. What an odd choice."

"You thought I would pick something about babies or children?"

"Yes. But  _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd?_  It doesn't make any sense."

"Haven't we always said that we'd just pick whatever book we were in the mood for? I know this is surprising to you, but I wasn't in the mood for a book about babies."

"Really?" Sheldon's eye widened.

Amy shrugged. "I feel like maybe my life is being taken over by a baby. No, it  _is_ being taken over by a baby. Very shortly. There's been getting the nursery ready and the classes and the baby shower. I just wanted to read about something else. Does that disappoint you?"

"Not disappoint me. It surprised me, though. And you really picked two books didn't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I did. Sorry to surprise you with one in an email like that," Amy said, sliding her shoes off and putting her swollen feet up on the coffee table. Sheldon watched her disapprovingly, but, having been snapped at before, he left his mouth shut.

"No, it was good. I suppose I needed . . ." he paused, " . . . a distraction, too." Then he looked at her. "You liked it?"

"I've always liked Agatha Christie. It's fun to try and figure out who the murderer is before the end."

"I'm sure you get them all correct. And what are you doing?"

Amy stopped moving her hand, not realizing she had been pressing on her stomach with the ball of her palm. "Oh, it's nothing."

"Then it's most certainly something!" Sheldon's voice was already shrill again.

"It's nothing. It just feels . . . different, that's all. Taut or something."

Sheldon snapped up. "Different! How different? Like a contraction different?"

"Please calm down. No, not like a contraction. It's not painful at all. It just sometimes feels like . . . like when you stretch your arms above your head and your shoulder muscles feel tighter. That's it. I promise. It's only happened a couple of times this evening." Sheldon looked down at her, his eyes getting that wild expression again. "Sheldon, I promised you I would tell you if there was anything to be worried about. How about you make us some tea? Something soothing, like chamomile?"

He frowned but then said, "Very well."

Amy leaned her head back against the sofa and relaxed, listening to the sounds of Sheldon making tea. As much as she loved their new home - and she really, truly, loved it more than she could have ever imagined - she was disappointed that she could not see him in the kitchen while sitting on the sofa. She loved to watch him making tea, how gentle and nimble his hands were. He had such beautiful hands. But she had seen him make it enough that she could close her eyes and imagine every step of the process. The suggestion of tea had been a whim, a grasp at something else to occupy him, but just the sounds of him working was calming her, too.

"Tea. Chamomile. Hot," rang Sheldon's voice. Amy opened her eyes and took the offered mug from him with a smile. He sat back down next to her.

"So," Amy said, after taking a sip, " _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_. I actually didn't guess correctly. Did you?"

Sheldon bit his lip. "No." He paused. "But that's okay! You're second book proves it doesn't matter!"

"I don't know if it proves that, but it does provide another reasonable solution to the crime. So you enjoyed the second book also?"

"Parts of it. I liked when it broke down each of the clues logically. But I thought it meandered off track a lot, like that whole chapter on  _Oedipus Rex_." He took a deep breath. "Didn't it bother you that Hercule Poirot may have been wrong? Did it ruin the original book for you? Or all the other Poirot mysteries? Weren't you embarrassed for him?" He buried his face in his mug.

"Ah," Amy said. She hadn't thought about Sheldon's past blunder in a very long time. She rested her mug on top of her stomach. "If I say I wasn't embarrassed for him, that his solution to the crime was just as good as the one in the second book, if I argued that his is the correct solution regardless of what anyone else thinks because that's the one Christie wrote, thus it's the only canonical solution . . . how would that make you feel?"

"Who said anything about feelings?" Sheldon asked.

Amy smiled. "We're all human. Even Hercule Poirot." She took a few more drinks of her tea, waiting for Sheldon to speak. Surprisingly, even after a very long while, he didn't. She took that as silent agreement and the end of the topic. "As a Sherlock Holmes fan, what did you think of Poirot? I can't decide if you would like him better or not."

"I liked how neat he was. Sherlock is a slob. But they have a lot in common."

"Such as?"

"They both have excellent memories, perhaps even eidetic. They are both very observant. They are vain. Although Poirot is more polite, he understands social nuances better than Sherlock. What did you think when Poirot was talking about women? 'Woman observe subconsciously a thousand little details, without knowing that they are doing so.' Do you think that's true?"

"Yes. Without a doubt." Amy took another sip of her tea. "Of all the sentences in this book, though, that's not the one I thought you'd latch on to."

Sheldon's lips turned up slightly. "I'm about to be surrounded by woman. Anything that provides insight is interesting to me." Amy smiled, and he continued, "Was there a sentence you thought I would prefer?"

Amy nodded. "Yes. When Poirot first meets Dr. Sheppard in the garden, when he talks about the daily toils of work and how he misses it. It reminded me of you."

"I would not say that work is a toil to me, but, yes, I agree with the sentiment. Although, I find I miss work less now that you're with me on vacations." Amy brushed his hand slightly, and he gave her a tiny grin. "Do you think Poirot and Sherlock are more alike or more different?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Poirot is calmer, that's for sure. And more dapper."

"You like Poirot better then?"

"Noooo," Amy wrinkled her brow. "I should, I think, based on the description I just gave. But there's something in Sherlock's raw energy I find very appealing. I think I would like a Sherlock Holmes/Hercule Poirot love child the best."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "You do know that's not biologically possible? Or is that a pregnancy brain thing again?"

Amy chuckled before taking another drink of her tea.

"Amy?"

"Yes?"

He leaned forward to set his mug on the coffee table. "Why do you think the term love child is only used for illegitimate children?"

"I suppose it sounds nicer than bastard," Amy shrugged.

"I don't like it."

"Because you disapprove of children born out of wedlock?"

"No . . . I'm not sure what I think of that." He leaned forward and rested his hand on her abdomen. "I don't like the idea that children born in wedlock aren't made with love, too."

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy batted her eyes, trying to clear the tears she felt coming.  _Really, is there no limit to pregnancy hormones?_

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin Book Club," Sheldon said.

"You didn't ruin anything. Maybe we've said all there is to say. There was a mystery, it was solved, but someone else thinks incorrectly. It's a thought experiment, like Schrödinger's cat; Hercule Poirot may be correct or he may be wrong, and we'll never know." She shrugged. "Would you like to watch something? There's a new episode of  _Agent Carter_  on the queue."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about the book anymore? As far as Book Clubs go, it wasn't much."

Amy leaned closer to Sheldon, resting her head on his shoulder. "Actually, I just want a quiet evening at home with you, relaxing. As I already pointed out, tonight is the one night we know we can do that. No excitement whatsoever."

* * *

Coming from the bathroom, Amy got into bed and struggled to get comfortable. She didn't realize how much she was tossing and turning until Sheldon asked, "Do you want the pillow for between your legs? You kicked it over here."

"No, I don't think so." Another shift and she felt better.  _Okay, good, maybe I can fall asleep in this position._  When Sheldon wrapped his arm around her, she relaxed even further. Her eyelids already felt heavy. Sleep was such a elusive thing lately.

Just as she was about to slip over the edge of consciousness, something changed. She moved one leg just a little to keep from upsetting Sheldon, who had settled in as well.  _What is that?_ She wiggled slightly, and Sheldon murmured.  _Oh no! Is there no dignity left to me anymore?_ She threw back the covers and started the clumsy work of getting up. Sheldon's arm fell off of her with a thump.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just have to go to the bathroom. Go back to sleep," she hissed, glad the lights were out so he wouldn't see her embarrassed flush.

"Again? But you just went."

"I am nine months pregnant, Sheldon. The toilet and I are on intimate terms," she said as she walked as fast as she could to the bathroom.

"You don't have to be vulgar about it," his voice followed her.

Amy slammed the bathroom door.

It happened just as she was lowering herself into the sitting position. A rush of fluid that she instantly knew was not urine.  _Damnit, Sheldon Cooper. You always have to be right! And in the most sensible location, too._  It was the first thing to cross her mind. She sat down anyway, to gather herself and to try to still the racing in her chest. _I have to be calm so Sheldon will be calm. I have to be calm so Sheldon will be calm._

Her abdomen stretched and shifted again, but - she wasn't sure if she imagined it or not - it seemed tighter than before. She knew she couldn't sit on the toilet and prepare herself to prepare Sheldon all night. Sheldon was either prepared or not. She had something more important than even him to worry about now.

He was still awake, of course, when she went back to the bedroom. She walked over to his side of the bed, and he sat up sharply.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

_Deep breath._  "Nothing's wrong, really."  _Deep breath._  "It's just that you might get your wish after all."  _Deep breath_. "My water just broke."

"WHAT!" He was up like The Flash. "There's only a fourteen percent chance of that!" He ran his hand through his hair. "Or is it less for the first pregnancy? I think it is. Why can't I remember? I studied this! Is something wrong with me? Fourteen percent chance overall that watering breaking is the first sign of labor, but I think -"

Amy silenced him with her hands on his face. "Sheldon. Calm down. Listen to me. Remember, we rehearsed this. I'll call the doctor, and you'll call Leonard and your mother. Just like all those times we practiced. Okay?"

He nodded, but she noticed his breath was shallow.

"Listen to me, Sheldon. I need you to do this. It's very important. I love you, and I know you can do this. If you can't do it for yourself, I need you to do this for me. And for the baby."

He took a deep breath and nodded again, but more firmly this time.

* * *

Fourteen hours later, Sheldon was certain, absolutely certain, he was deep in the fires of Mordor. Or something even worse.

It hadn't started out so intensely. He drove the route they had practiced many times, then there were other activities, paperwork and monitors and nurses. He had to remind everyone that Amy was allergic to penicillin, although that seemed to make Amy angry at him for some reason. But he had a flash card for it! Amy said the pain wasn't bad, just like menstrual cramps. Then it was really, really bad menstrual cramps. At least when the lower back pain hit, he could do something. Counter pressure! It was one of his flash cards! Until it went from bad to worse. He didn't know which was worse, the groaning or the swearing ( _Amy! Language!_ ) or the begging, the absolute begging, to push even though she knew she couldn't yet. He had no idea what time it was, only that the sun was up, when Penny insisted on relieving him and Leonard insisted that he eat something, anything. He was starving, and he hated himself with every bite he took of that breakfast sandwich, thinking of Amy in the room and the way she had screamed at him to just leave her alone. He was exhausted, even though he realized he was doing absolutely nothing productive.

Finally, pushing! _Here we go, Amy, what you wanted!_   _It will all be over soon._ Except it wasn't, was it? After almost three hours, he hated Amy's scientific curiosity. Why, oh why?, did she insist on doing it this way, without any medications, without an epidural, just to experience it on a neurochemical level? Why, oh why? were her lovely childbearing hips failing her now, just when she needed them? And now his Amy,  _my beautiful, strong Amy_ , was no longer beautiful or strong. She was sweating, she was pale, her face and hands were swollen, her lips were cracked, her eyes were held open by only the inky circles beneath them, and she was fading fast.

She didn't even have the strength to fall back against the bed, she just seemed to wither into it. "I can't." It didn't even come out as words, rather just as some sort of barely audible vapor.

"Amy, you don't have a choice." Her doctor's voice was stern. "The baby is crowning. I know you're exhausted, but you don't have a choice. It's almost over, and you have to do this." Sheldon heard some sort of warning in that, too, and his worst fears were confirmed when an ominous look was exchanged with a nurse, who then immediately left the room. He did not ever want to find out what that look meant.

He let go of Amy's hand, which he had been holding faithfully even though it was soaking in sweat, and he put his hands on either side of her face.

"Amy, look at me." Her eyelids fluttered weakly. "You have to do this. You are the strongest person I know. You are the only actual superhero in the world." Her words from the night before ( _Only last night? It feels like ages ago.)_  came to him. "Listen to me, Amy. I need you to do this. It's very important. I love you, and I know you can do this. If you can't do it for yourself, I need you to do this for me. And for the baby."

She nodded. Despite his previous plan to only turn toward her face and to not touch her anywhere below the waist in this entire process, he hooked his elbow behind her knee. She obliged him by leaning forward again, and he put his other hand on her back.

"Okay, Amy, give us a big push," the doctor said.

Sheldon held her tightly, helped lift her leg, and he saw Amy grit her teeth. He put his face close to her ear, his forehead touching her hair, shut his eyes, and whispered, "I love you. Do it for me." He heard a new, deeper guttural sound come out of her, longer and stronger, and she propelled it on. She relaxed to take a breath.

"Good job! Okay, Amy, one more just like that. One more!"

They did it again, together, the holding, the gritting of the teeth, the whispering, the primal bellow. Together, they held their breath as time was suspended for what was probably just a millisecond but felt like forever. Without even realizing he was doing it, Sheldon cracked open his eyes just in time to see a miracle.

Someone (the doctor? a nurse? him?) yelled, "She's finally here!" and, indeed, she was. She was screaming and she was bluish but turning pinkish-red and she had so much hair ( _Amy was right!_ ) and she was covered in disgusting substances and she was finally here, being placed on Amy's chest!

It was like nothing else he had ever experienced. All sorts of movement flourished around him, but he felt locked in place, trapped in the eye of a storm. He didn't even understand what was happening, why he could not stop looking at the baby even though he wanted to look at Amy, why he could hear Amy talking but not understand her, why he felt tears on his face but had no desire to hide them, why something that should be so revolting to him was so beautiful, and why this person that had literally just entered the room made him love her so much.

"It's okay, Daddy, you can touch her." The nurse's voice shattered his bubble. He looked at Amy, and she was crying and pulling their daughter closer even has other hands were trying to wipe her off. _Who is she talking to? Oh, Daddy! That's me!_ Amy looked back at him, her smile eclipsing the sun even in the midst of her tears, and he immediately knew he was wrong. Amy was the most beautiful and strongest person he would ever know.

He bent over to kiss her glistening forehead, before leaning down further to run his index finger along his daughter's cheek, barely touching it. She seemed to pause in her crying and she opened her eyes, and he almost jumped back, startled. But he didn't, he managed to hold his ground, to hold the gaze, to look into her eyes.

"Ada Fowler Cooper, I am your father."


	44. Awe

**Awe**

* * *

_"Ada Fowler Cooper, I am your father."_

* * *

Sheldon had moved to a strange state even beyond exhaustion. He sat in the rocking chair, the afternoon sun peeking around the edges of the blind, lending the hospital room a magical glow. Amy was sound asleep, snoring loudly, her face still swollen, dark circles ringing her eyes. Watching her sleep like that was intensely gratifying, to know she could finally have the peace and quiet she needed to recover, after so much activity and pain.

There was a brief knock at the door, and then someone new loudly entered, pushing the clear bassinet in front of her. Sheldon got up quickly and met them.

"Shhh, be quiet, Amy's asleep," he admonished the stranger. He looked down at his daughter ( _my daughter!_ ), watching her tiny face pinch and squish as she made grunt-like noises.

"Sorry, but someone's hungry. And hungry babies don't wait." In spite of the firm rebuttal of the words, they were softened with what Sheldon instantly recognized as a Texas twang. He looked up, chastised and surprised. As though to prove the stranger's words correct, Ada ( _my daughter!_ ) intensified the noises she was making, not full cries yet, but something between a cry and a gasp for air.

Amy was awake, sitting up, almost instantaneously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, honey. She's just hungry." This new woman picked up the baby, with an effortlessness Sheldon envied, and carried her over to Amy. "I'm Barb, your lactation consultant, and I'm here to help. Now, you've haven't done this yet, right?"

At that moment, Ada started to cry, truly cry.

"No," Amy shook her head, "I tried right after she was born, but I couldn't get it. I think I was too fatigued." There was no denying the disappointment in her voice.

"No regret here. With babies, you don't have time for regrets. Only forward momentum from now on. We'll keeping working 'til we get this right." Even Sheldon, still standing at the foot of Amy's bed, felt the soothing authority in Barb's voice.

He sighed softly and shifted his weight, looking down at his shoes. He felt so peripheral and pointless. He didn't know if he should watch or look away. As Barb instructed Amy, he felt lost, looking at each object in the room in turn. This felt like yet another ritual in the secret world of women, a world he did not understand but had witnessed the edges of so many times in the last few months, and he wondered if his presence was an intrusion. Should he leave? Not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, or even the hundredth time, he felt utterly useless.

About to turn away, he heard Amy. "Sheldon! Look, Sheldon!" He looked at her, beckoned by the unabashed joy in her voice. "She's doing it! We're doing it!"

If he thought Amy was never so beautiful as she was in those moments after their daughter was born, he was wrong again. He knew it was a trick of the lighting in the room, but Amy seemed to glow, the light ringing her head, the light making her rings hanging on the chain around her neck sparkle, sitting on the bed, holding and feeding her baby.

"Come on over, Daddy. There's room for three." Barb waved her arm at him.

He hesitated, still wondering if Amy would want to share this private act with him. Then Amy looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, come sit by us."

Tentatively, he sat on the bed next to her, and his scientific curiosity took over. He watched this most basic of human interactions with awe. Relaxing, he put his arm around Amy's back. She leaned slightly into him.

"Look at you, you're a pro at this already!" Barb said. "I'll leave you now. You know how to burp when you're done, right?"

"Yes. But how will I know when she's done?" Amy asked with a note of panic.

"You'll just know."

"Wait! One more thing. Will you take our picture? Sheldon, give her your phone."

"A picture! Amy, you're not decent!" He looked at her, one side of her gown lowered to her waist, her breast exposed.

"It's for me, for us. I'm not going to put it on Facebook. And you can't really see anything, anyway. Please."

He sighed but passed his phone over to Barb. Anything for Amy.

"First family photo? Smile!" Barb said.

Sheldon leaned in closer, looked up at the phone, and found himself smiling.

* * *

The afternoon was fading into evening, and Sheldon was rocking again, this time, for the first time, holding his daughter. He had been so frightened to do it before, but now he no longer understood why. It felt so natural, once Amy insisted he take her when her own food had arrived.

It had been so easy not to hold her at first. Amy, of course, didn't want to let go and he didn't want her to either. He actually thought it was cruel when Ada was taken away so soon, to be weighed and measured. Even when they gave her back, complete with a hat, Amy wanted to try to nurse, so he left to tell Leonard and Penny, napping against each other in the waiting room, and there were phone calls and then there was a newborn check in the nursery and and and and . . .

Realizing his life was probably going to be a never-ending series of ands from now on, he looked over at Amy, snoring again. To think that twenty-four hours prior he had been studying flash cards that turned out to be almost futile. There was no studying possible for something like this.

He had been worried, at first, when he took the warm bundle in his arms, not that he would drop her (this surprised him, he had worried about that for months), but if he was betraying Amy in some fashion. Wasn't it unfair to love someone so much, so soon, when it had taken him years to learn to love Amy properly, the way she deserved to be loved? But the look Amy had given him when he finally settled in the chair caused those worries to evaporate. Ada was Amy's, of Amy, nurtured by Amy, a gift from Amy. Amy had created this gift with passion and fatigue and love and, finally, agony. So, he sat and rocked his daughter for over an hour and thought, while Amy dropped quickly back to sleep.

Sheldon thought about at least a thousand things. He looked down at Ada's face, still swollen from her own difficult journey that day, and he brushed his hand along her full head of dark hair and smiled. He sincerely hoped her face would settle into some resemblance of Amy's. Penny had already claimed she looked like him, which he didn't understand at all because the only person she currently resembled was Winston Churchill with a cone head, but that statement disappointed him nonetheless. Amy was so beautiful he wanted her beauty to reflected in everything she touched, everything she created. He also wondered where Ada's life path would lead her, exactly how intelligent she would be, if she would be more drawn to physics or biology. Would she want to gaze out, to expand the universe ever wider, or to gaze in, to understand the unseen depths inside humanity? He didn't really care which branch of science called to her; he just enjoyed imagining a dark-haired little girl giving the same face Amy gave when she was in awe of something.

Awe. That's precisely what it was. And not just awe at Amy, although he knew without a doubt there was no way he could have ever done what she had done a few short hours ago. Not even the usual awe at himself, that Ada was the most perfect baby ever born because she carried his DNA. Not satisfied awe for having survived the crucible of her arrival, because he knew this was just the beginning of another, longer crucible. His awe was directed at the tiny infant in his arms, the wondrous creature he almost could not believe he had had any part in creating. Of all the things he and Amy had set out to do together, this was by far the most triumphant they had ever been. Even though he did not yet see Amy or himself in Ada, he did see a world of possibilities. His heart ached at how blessed he felt at that moment, that Amy loved and trusted him enough to give him this, to think he was ready for this. Here was this small, helpless being, and he and Amy were going to guide her together, show her the world, teach her so many things. It was so much responsibility, but, for once, he wasn't really that frightened. Oh, he knew he probably would be before too long. What was it Tuvok said? "Parenting is so much more overwhelming than one expects." He wondered, not for the first time, how his life had twisted and turned and led him to this magical day, how he had been so fortunate to have the opportunity to create this child, and how fortunate he would be to help form her into her own person.

He also wondered if sleep was something he once dreamed about, but he had to stay awake. Bernadette had texted that she was leaving the airport, and they should be here any minute.

On cue, there was a quiet knock on the door, and Bernadette's blonde head peaked around the corner. She entered on tip-toe, crossed over to Amy and kissed her temple. Amy didn't even stir. Then she came to him - them - and looked down before bending to kiss the baby's forehead. The look she gave Sheldon next worried him that she might kiss him, too, but all she did was smile and pat his arm. Blowing one last kiss toward Amy, she tip-toed out of the room.

Only then did Sheldon meet the other set of eyes, where she had stopped and stood just inside the door. His mother, with tears running down her face. _I've never seen so many people cry as I have today. Amy, the baby, Penny, Leonard, me._

Mary Cooper smiled and walked over to him, bending down close to kiss his forehead.  _A lot of kissing, too._  She whispered, "Oh, Shelly. I never thought I'd see this day."

"You've known you were going to see this day for seven months," he whispered back.

"You may be a grown man with a child of your own now, but you are still not allowed to sass your mother."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled softly. "You look exhausted. Have you slept?"

"The night before last."

"Well, let me take my grandchild, and you curl up there on that sofa. I won't wake Amy."

Sheldon shook his head. "No, not yet."

"Why not?"

"I need to formally introduce you first. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not." He lifted his daughter up, closer to his mother. "Ada Fowler Cooper, meet your MeeMaw."

Mary Cooper took her granddaughter, another tear on her face ( _more crying!_ ). Sheldon stood with a weariness beyond anything he could imagine, kissed his mother on the cheek ( _more kissing!_ ), took eight steps, and was asleep before his face hit the pillow.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	45. Year Three

**...**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Three**

* * *

Valentine's Day is not a holiday for the parents of a newborn. It passed by with nary a whisper, and most certainly no brushing of the skin.

They were trying to get Ada on a schedule, which was both more difficult and more simple than they had been doing it. This they discussed endlessly: the nuances of timing and order and balancing needs with wants. Then there was the thing they did not discuss at all, the morning four days prior that Amy had hit rock bottom and almost took Sheldon with her. By silent mutual consent, it would never be mentioned again. They would each live separately with the guilt of this black mark upon them: Amy for the things she had said, Sheldon for how he had stood with his forehead against the door, his hand around the door knob, fighting every demon he had ever known not to open it and walk out.

On the twentieth, Sheldon woke up with a start, well before the 6:30 feeding. He strained his ears, but all was calm and quiet. Amy was sound asleep next to him, and he would not wake her for anything. Well, maybe the Nobel Prize. He slipped out of bed and into the shower before trying to slip out of the house. He carried his shoes to the living room and was startled to find his mother awake, sitting on the sofa, knitting.

"Mom, what are you doing up?" he whispered.

"I could ask you the same," she replied, watching her stitches. "I haven't been able to sleep past six in years, so I knit. These are booties. Where do you think they've all been coming from? And why are you dressed and out here so early in the morning?"

"I remembered an errand I have to run. And do you just sit in silence and knit?"

"At home, I watch the early news, but I can't figure out your fancy TV. And what errand?"

Sheldon sighed. "I've told you, there's nothing to figure out." He took the small remote from the coffee table, pressed the large button on the bottom, and raised his voice slightly, "Siri, play Channel Four, volume low."

Mary jumped as the television came to life. "I don't like that, it's unnerving. You think this woman is your friend, but one day she will kill you in your sleep. And what kind of foreign name is Siri, anyway?"

Sheldon rolled his eyes and started to slip on his shoes.

"You never did answer my question. What errand is so important you have to run it at six in the morning?" his mother asked.

"Uh . . . going to buy cereal before breakfast. We're out," he said.

She looked up at him. "We both know that's not true. Don't try to lie to me, young man."

"Fine. I just realized it's our anniversary. I haven't got a single thing to give to Amy."

Mary smiled. "See, the truth is nicer, anyway. Get a card, women love cards." She returned to her knitting as he opened the door. "When she wakes up, I'll tell her that you went to buy cereal. You might consider bringing some home. One of the secrets to a successful lie is follow through."

He drove to the grocery store to buy cereal, debating what he should get Amy, what he could find so early in the morning on such sort notice. His mother's suggestion of a card was ridiculous, he had never once bought Amy a greeting card and did not intend on building her future expectation for one now. The best idea he had was a box of brownie mix that he could make for her, because she liked brownies and chocolate was supposed to be romantic, but he knew that was weak idea. He had just grabbed a shopping basket when he saw the sunflowers in the floral department. Yes! He choose the bouquet with the most perfect specimens, and then he saw the sign above the display: "Don't forget your bouquet card!"

_Well, one of the plain ones with the red border wouldn't be too much, would it?_ He picked up the complimentary pen. But what to write? It needed to be something Amy would understand but that wouldn't be embarrassing, especially if his mother saw it. Suddenly, he remembered the recent forgotten holiday, and he smiled as he wrote the words.

His mother got up as soon as he came home, and, when she saw the flowers, she smiled and nodded at him. Behind her, on the sofa, was Amy, sitting and looking down at their daughter in her arms.

"Oh, good, Sheldon! I'm so glad you remembered the cereal!" Mary said effortlessly, and Sheldon envied her skill. "You know, I just remembered that no one went down to the get the mail yesterday. I'll be right back." She picked up the mail that she had, in fact, remembered to get the day before and went out the front door, patting Sheldon's arm as she went. Follow through.

"Yes, thank you for the cereal," Amy said, not looking up, still lost in the trance of motherhood. Sheldon didn't mind. He liked watching her. She was looking so much better now, more like herself. Even though she was still in her nightgown and robe, her hair was neatly braided and there were no dark circles under her eyes. Only in middle the night did the look of terror come back into her eyes, the one he had feared was permanent that first week home from the hospital, when Amy seemed like a feral version of herself. The schedule had saved her, and now he frequently caught her just holding and enjoying Ada for those precious moments that were all too brief. He felt a strange ache at the thought of going back to work on Monday, a regret he had never felt before at the thought of returning to his job. Maybe he should have taken a longer paternity leave, so that he could watch them together everyday, to see the look on Amy's face when she gazed at her baby. That look, it was so unique, so different from the loving looks she gave him, but there was no doubt that it was love. Motherhood looked beautiful on Amy.

Sheldon sat the bag with the cereal and the brownie mix on the island and walked over to the sofa. Amy looked up at him.

"Sheldon! Sunflowers!" Her face had instantly shifted to the loving countenance she reserved for him alone.

"For you. Happy anniversary," he said, suddenly feeling silly about the whole thing. But he leaned down to kiss her softly anyway. "Do we have a vase somewhere?"

"Oh, they're beautiful. Yes, there's the crystal vase Mother sent as a housewarming gift. But leave it for now. Sit with us instead."

He sat. "There's a card."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Will you read it to me? My hands are full."

He nodded, feeling more ridiculous by the minute. He opened the little white envelope and cleared his throat. "Amy, this is strange, reading this to you. Maybe I should I let you read it yourself later."

"Please? I want to hear it. And your mother isn't here."

Unable to deny her, he stared at the words, even though he knew exactly what they said. He couldn't help but whisper them. "You make my heart feel like the Tardis."

He looked up sheepishly, to see Amy's beautiful face, shining so brightly at him. A single tear started to roll down her cheek, and he instinctively reached up to stop it. "Amy? Is that not what I should have written?"

"Sheldon, it's perfect. I'm so happy." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I didn't get you anything."

He leaned forward to set the flowers on the coffee table. He ran his palm over his daughter's dark hair, before tracing down her arm with his fingertips. Then, he gave her his index finger and she grasped it in her tiny hand. At the exact same moment, she released a small, contented baby sigh.

"That's not true," Sheldon said. "You gave me the best gift of all."

* * *

That night, the Post-It notes were on his bathroom mirror, surprising him. When did she have the time to sneak off and write them?

"I love you more than Bilbo loved the Shire."  
"I love you more than Laura loved Almonzo."  
"I love you far more than Catherine loved Frederic."  
"I love you more than Mary loved the garden."  
"I love you more than John loved Shakespeare."  
"I love you more than Poirot loved his little gray cells."

Under those notes, there was an extra one:

"You are an unsolvable puzzle, and I cannot resist that."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	46. Goodnight Moon

**_Thank you in_ ** **_advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2018**

**Primary Topic: _Goodnight Moon_ by Margaret Wise Brown**

* * *

"Okay, Miss Cooper, time for a nap." Amy kissed her daughter's cheek and lay her down in the crib, leaving her hand on her chest, looking down at a much smaller and chubbier version of her husband. "I know afternoon naps are of a two hour duration, but Mamma has had a very rough weekend and could really use a good three hour nap herself. Shhhh, we won't tell Daddy about the schedule deviation. Deal?"

Ada waved her arms, which Amy decided to take as an agreement, and she turned on the mobile before walking to her own bedroom. She sat her phone on her night stand, instructed Siri that she was in Do Not Disturb mode until further notice, and lay down with a heavy sigh. She rubbed her face wearily. It had been an awful weekend. The last straw had been the phone call she had just had from Penny, an exchange that Amy thought could probably be considered their first true fight.

"Do you know that I'm ovulating today? We had other plans than babysitting your first child." Then Penny had screamed before hanging up on her, "You're an enabler, and Sheldon will never grow up if you don't make him!"

Amy didn't have the chance to tell her best friend that she was not an enabler, it was just that she had allotted twelve hours before she was going to become angry herself and it had only been nine. But if Sheldon wasn't home by the time she woke up from her nap, well . . . hell hath no fury.

Also, Amy did not intend to tell Penny that Amy had no right to be angry. Sheldon's break down had come much later than she expected. And much more peacefully. It was her humiliating secret that she had been the first to have a break down. And there had been nothing peaceful about it at all.

* * *

She didn't remember the date, because she didn't even know it at the time. A week at home with her longed-for but forever hungry baby, her anxious husband, and her mother-in-law.

Amy had been exhausted in her life, but this, whatever this was, was something else altogether, something beyond a means to describe it. She would have given anything, truly anything, for two hours of uninterrupted sleep. Her days became an endless cycle of diapers and shushing and burping and crying, and she wasn't really sure where nights ended and the mornings began. All of those moments she had dreamed about holding her sweet, sleeping baby, where far fewer and further apart than she had hoped. Did she eat? She must have, she remembered smelling Mary's food, but she couldn't remember tasting it. Did she shower? Surely she must have, but she remembered feeling dirty all the time. She felt so abused, sore in places she didn't know she had, and even the memory of how proud she had been that she was, apparently, a natural at breast feeding couldn't made her forget the cracked nipples and, worst of all, the constancy of it. She wondered why she even bothered to put a shirt on with her sweatpants, because where had the time to put on real clothes gone?

She felt like she had just shut her eyes after a morning feeding, too tired to even get out of bed, Sheldon rocking and burping Ada in the corner, when the almost-crying started again and woke her. How long it had actually been, she never asked. She squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut, already feeling tears, hoping that if she ignored the mild unhappy sounds they would just stop.

"Amy?" Sheldon had said from the chair.

"What?" Her eyes snapped open to look him.

"Do you think she's hungry?"

Amy forced herself to sit upright. "Do I think she's hungry? Do  _I_  think she's hungry!"

Sheldon had the decency to look terrified.

"Of course she's hungry! When isn't she hungry? Aren't you smart enough to have figured that out by now? Oh wait, I forgot, you get the fun jobs, like rocking and reading stories and humming  _Soft Kitty_! You haven't been turned into a dairy cow with only one purpose in life! You still get to use your brain! You get to sleep! I mean really sleep, not with one ear constantly on the alert for the cries of hunger!" She just kept screaming, unable to stop. Vitriol poured out of her mouth in a torrent. Most of it wasn't even true, the things she was saying, and she knew it even as they formed in her throat. Sheldon always got up with her when Ada cried, but she accused him of sleeping away his days and nights. Sheldon took turns changing the diaper, probably even doing it more than her, but in the version of events she flung at him, he didn't even know where they were kept. Things she hadn't thought about or cared about in years came to the surface. Aunt Flora's birthday party? The time he compared her hand to a bear paw? His childish obsession with trains? Why not yell about those now, too? She didn't remember how long she had screamed, how long Sheldon had sat there and took it, even if Ada was crying.

At last, Sheldon stood up without reply and walked out the room with the baby, and Amy screamed at his back. "That's right, run away! I always knew you were a flight risk! Just run out that door, like my father, so I can spend the rest of my life resenting my daughter, too! At least you had the decency to marry me first!"

Then she threw herself back down, burying her face in the pillow, and sobbed. Sobbed until her nose ran and her head pounded and her eyes hurt and her chest ached. Sobbed as she had never sobbed before.

Time being so fluid, she had no idea how long she cried before she heard Mary walk into the bedroom and set something on the night stand, before Amy felt her weight on the bed next to her. On the verge of hyperventilating, Amy refused to raise her head. The last person she wanted to see her like this was her mother-in-law. No matter how helpful Mary had been, she was still her mother-in-law.

A hand caressed her dirty hair, a hand that she knew well, a hand that was not Mary's. She turned her face to look up at Sheldon, sitting there with his windbreaker on. She had never noticed he had the same walk as his mother before.

"I brought you both hot tea and cocoa. I couldn't tell if you were upset or outraged. Do you want some Tylenol for your head? Or a glass of water?" he asked.

"I - thought - you - were - leaving," she whispered back between hiccups, shifting her eyes away from his in shame.

"I made it as far as the front door. But I never opened it." He shrugged.

"Ada?" She involuntarily took in two sharp, raspy breaths, her lungs still convulsing from her sobs.

"Mom has her. She's not crying. Maybe we were wrong."

"Sheldon, - I'm - sorry. - I -"

"Shhhh," he silenced her by leaning down to kiss her temple. "I know. You're over tired."

Amy didn't reply. She didn't know what to say. Sheldon was being more generous and loving and forgiving than she deserved. He kept running his fingers through her hair, and they rested as Amy's breathing became more regular.

He took a deep breath, breaking the quiet. "Amy, I'm going to suggest something. I know you had strong feelings about this, when we discussed it before, so I won't bring it up again after this, I promise. But I think we ought to consider a schedule. I'm worried the way we're doing it now is killing you."

They had hotly debated this numerous times before Ada was born. Sheldon, of course, assumed there would be a schedule, and, unbeknownst to her, had researched schedules for each of the first twelve months of life. He had them laminated and put into a folder, and presented them to her with pride like they were gold. But she had been reading a lot, too, and the American Academy of Pediatrics clearly recommended not having a schedule, letting the baby set each day's timing and activities. Also, they recommended feeding the baby before it got hungry. And so, every time Ada uttered a vaguely dissatisfied noise, Amy had fed her. Because how was she supposed to know when her baby wasn't yet hungry but was about to be hungry?

Looking up at Sheldon Cooper, the most structured and scheduled person she knew, Amy realized he had purposely left himself out of his earlier comment. The way they were doing it know was killing him, too. She also thought about their daughter, who was, after all, a Cooper.

She nodded against the pillow. "Let's try it."

* * *

Genetics are a crazy thing. During the next week, Ada took to a schedule like a fish to water. Just like her father and her grandmother. Amy noticed, once the exhaustion started to lessen (it never went away completely, she was learning), that Mary had a schedule, too; although she never used that word, she kept the house running like a well-oiled machine, a gentle engine whirring in the background, doing laundry and making dinner, always watching but only directly helping with the baby when asked so that Sheldon and Amy could learn parenthood with the security of a safety net beneath them.

Mary Cooper, God bless her. Amy had never thought those words before, but she really wanted any deity that might exist to shower her mother-in-law with happiness and riches. She never once mentioned Amy's outburst, although there could be no doubt she heard it. She never once bemoaned the lack of schedule at first or gloated over its success. She was the one who tactfully but forcefully controlled Amy's mother on her visit that first week, when Amy was still in the sweatpants fog, herding her out the door before she overstayed her welcome. When Sheldon went back to work after three weeks, as they had previously agreed, Mary started leaving each day for longer stretches and doing less housework, and it was the third day before Amy realized she was subtly teaching Amy how to be alone with a baby. Then, the next day, she casually asked Amy to go the grocery store while she went out on a studio tour with Penny. Amy grasped this was more guidance, an outing alone with the baby. Although Amy thought Shackleton packed less on his trips to Antartica, she was successful. The next day, Mary had suggested all the girls should go for lunch. The night before she left, she informed Sheldon and Amy they were going out for Date Night, and, although Amy thought she might die driving away from her baby, she understood that this, too, was a both a lesson and a gift from Mary.

When Mary Cooper left after a month, a miracle happened. Namely, nothing happened. Sheldon went to work, Amy followed the schedule at home, she took the baby out to lunch with Penny or to Target, they left Ada with Bernadette and Howard for another Date Night. The only blip was the morning Amy woke up in terror. Because, another miracle, Ada had slept for six straight hours! Oh, there were still times Amy was confused and frightened and felt like a failure, but they were far less frequent; Sheldon had lost his deer-in-the-headlight look which she had worried would be come permanent. She still wasn't a fan of breastfeeding, but now that it wasn't constant the pain was lessening. And something her mother-in-law had told her was true, she had learned the difference between Ada's cries. Best of all, she was finally able to sit down calmly and enjoy holding this sweet, miraculous thing she had made with Sheldon, kissing her, stroking her dark hair, letting Ada curl her hand around her finger.

Another miracle had happened on the most recent Friday morning: as Amy folded one of Sheldon's shirts, she looked around and realized that somehow all of the laundry was done. Finally! At least for a couple of hours! Ada was asleep and she had time to think, and she realized that she missed work.  _I have an IQ of over 180, and I just got excited by laundry. This isn't good._ She also realized she missed Sheldon. He was there, of course, and he was somehow succeeding at fatherhood, which, honestly, had always been a tiny grain of doubt in Amy's mind. But she missed the essential Sheldon, the Sheldon she had fallen in love with, not the Sheldon who discussed diapers and pacifiers with her.  _Maybe tonight, after Ada is asleep, we can play chess. Or do a crossword puzzle. Or anything not related to a baby._ She was even surprised to find that in her thoughts of Sheldon, there was a faint tickling of desire.  _Yes, maybe . . ._

A cry pierced Amy's revery, and an icy shiver ran through her. This was new cry. She went to Ada's room, and picked up her beautiful baby and held her warm body close. Her beautiful, too flushed baby. Her too warm body. Fighting off panic, Amy somehow managed to confirm her suspicions. Ada's temperature was 99.9. She didn't even know how he did it, how he understand her on the phone, how he got home so fast, how he quickly assumed control of the situation. Sheldon even ignored his Pre-Driving Check List, and he didn't betray a hint of his own fears until he sat with them, wringing his hands as they waited for the doctor.

Scientific Amy would have agreed with every thing the doctor said. The core body temperature in infants fluctuated, so anything less than 100.4 was considered normal. Although a mild ear infection was a possibility, it also could not be confirmed; even if it were, antibiotics were no longer the first line of treatment. And, remember, fever is your friend! But new mother Amy was frightened and angry and didn't like feeling that things were out of her of control, and all she wanted was for someone else to commiserate with her. And so every angry word of Sheldon's diatribe on the way home was balm to her soul. Fever is your friend: what a bunch of malarky, indeed!

Amy and Sheldon quickly learned that a schedule was meaningless to a sick baby. Ada only wanted to be held, she didn't want to sleep, she was inconsolable, she screamed as though she was being tortured every hour that they took her temperature for Sheldon's chart, always fearful of seeing 100.4.

That morning, well before the sun was up, Sheldon had said, accusingly, the deer-in-the-headlight look having returned, "I told you this would happen if you let Jacob touch her. The Caltech faculty daycare is nothing but a cesspool of germs! He was like typhoid Jacob, bringing them all here!"

"You never once said that! I can't believe you've resorted to lying!" Amy retorted, trying anything to shush her crying daughter. "Ear infections aren't contagious, and you know it! And if it's such a horrible daycare, why are we going to take Ada there? Wasn't that your job, to research the best daycare?"

Sheldon's nostrils flared, he threw up his arms, and he left without another word. He apparently went to Leonard and Penny's, waking them up, and he had apparently been a grouchy guest from hell. Thus Penny's phone call.

Amy sighed again on the edge of sleep, drifting off while thinking of what she would say to Penny.

* * *

She was aware of several things simultaneously before she opened her eyes. There was an aching fullness in her breasts, it was dark, and she could hear Sheldon murmuring. She lurched up with a gasp, bringing her palm to her milk-laden chest.

In the dim light from the hallway, she noticed Sheldon in the rocking chair in the corner, holding Ada against his shoulder, whispering the words from a book to her. She reached over and turned the knob above her night stand, raising the lights to a warm glow. He looked over at her and closed the book, resting it next to him in the chair.

"Sheldon. It's dark."

"Sorry I woke you. I'm not reading, I have it memorized. Maybe we should move the rocking chair into Ada's room now that she's sleeping in there full time."

"How long have you been home?"

"Since three. Don't worry, everything has been done. She had tummy time, and I encouraged her conversational skills by explaining warp drive while we watched _First Contact_. She's eaten twice and had a bath. I've read her book, and she's all dressed for bed. She seems to be feeling better." He shifted his head to look at Ada, whom Amy noticed was wearing the Wonder Woman sleeper. Sheldon's favorite. She also noticed the heels of her feet straining against the bottom, and felt a pang that Ada was outgrowing her first set of clothes.

"Her temperature has been in the 98's all day, and she's been much calmer. What time is it? And you gave her bottle?" Amy leaned back against the headboard.

"Almost eight. And why do we have special bottles to avoid nipple confusion if we don't use them?"

"I would have feed her. You should have woke me."

He shook his head. "No, you were sound asleep." He looked at her with his beautiful blue eyes. "Amy, I'm sorry."

"I know. Apology accepted. Although you may have a harder time with Penny."

Amy waited for his usual wisecrack about Leonard's short, asthmatic sperm, but instead he nodded. He will really was contrite. "Do you know what night it is?" he asked.

"Sunday?"

"It's Book Club Night."

"Oh! It didn't even cross my mind."

"I know. Mine either, actually. We've been a little busy."

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Amy shrugged. "Maybe we should call it a loss. It was fun while it lasted, but maybe it couldn't last forever."

"But we've read the same book this month."

"We have?"

"Yes.  _Goodnight Moon,"_ he said, his hand brushing the spine of the book he had sat down earlier.

Amy laughed, although laughing made her breasts ache more. She brought her hand back up to her chest.

"Are you okay?"

"I need to pump. But  _Goodnight Moon_. It's cute."

"I thought it lacked structure. There isn't any conflict or climax or resolution."

"Yes, you're right. And the characters are very one dimensional. The foreshadowing was a bit heavy-handed for my taste. Foreshadowing should be subtle, not obvious," Amy said.

Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other. Book Club Night. No, they wouldn't lose that.

Sheldon stood up, gingerly carrying his sleeping daughter. "I'll put her to bed and heat up some food for you while you pump."

Amy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, when Sheldon stopped and turned in the doorway. "And, Amy? I love you."


	47. Curses

**Curses**

* * *

_Sheldon stood up, gingerly carrying his sleeping daughter. "I'll put her to bed and heat up some food for you while you pump."_

_Amy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, when Sheldon stopped and turned in the doorway. "And, Amy? I love you."_

* * *

Just as he was opening the can, he heard the shower start, so Sheldon decided to warm the soup on the stove so that it would stay hot until Amy finished with her shower. It was gently bubbling as he stirred it when Amy joined him, smelling like her body wash. One of his favorite scents. He sat next to her at the island while she ate, and he listened while Amy talked about her empathy for Penny, how difficult it must be to want a baby so badly and have trouble conceiving. He nodded at what he hoped were the appropriate times, thinking that perhaps now was still not the time to point out, yet again, that it was probably the fault of Leonard's subpar sperm.

"Sheldon, have you been saving all the  _Doctor Whos_  we've missed?" she asked, putting her bowl in the dishwasher.

"Of course," Sheldon answered, relieved at the change in topic.

"Let's watch them."

Amy curled up next to him and surprised him by initiating a cuddle. Sheldon was baffled by this. He thought she would be furious with him, and, for once, he honestly thought he deserved her wrath. But instead she seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe it was the six hour nap. After the second episode, Amy paused it and asked his opinion of the new Doctor, whether or not it was good idea to make this incarnation a woman. It was a pleasant half-hour spent in discussion of  _Doctor Who_  mythology.

"Another episode or is it getting too late? It's eleven already," Sheldon asked, "well after our bed time."

"Actually . . ." Amy reached up to kiss him. When she turned her head and opened her mouth, her tongue brushing his lips, desire pulsed through him. And then she brought her hand to his ear and ran her fingertips delicately along the helix, and he felt his body shiver.

"Amy?" he asked after breaking the kiss for air. "Are you sure? Is it okay?"

"Yes. You know that." She took his hand and pulled him up, leading him to their bedroom.

"Um, I'll just get undressed in there," Sheldon said, dropping her hand and ducking into the walk-in closet. He brought his hand up to his chest. _Pull yourself together! Babylon 5. Greek food. Babylon 5. Greek food._ But he couldn't quiet himself. It had been far too long. Two and a half months, to be precise. And the last time was incomplete; Amy had asked to stop, she wasn't comfortable, and, even though she offered to finish him, the very idea of her not enjoying it had already killed the mood. But last week, Amy had laughed at something he said, and there was something in the way her neck arched . . . he had, shamefully, given into self-abuse.

Amy grinned at him when he came to bed. "Somebody is very, very excited, I see."

Sheldon blushed ( _why?_ ) and crawled in next to her.

"Two things," Amy said, catching his arm as he reached for her. "I'm going to leave the nursing bra on because . . . well, I'm not sure what to do -" He nodded at her like a fool, thankful that he wouldn't have to worry about that blurry line between his lover and someone's mother. "- and remember what the doctor said, you'll probably feel the strings from the IUD."

He nodded again, even more crazed this time, wishing she would just stop talking and let him touch her. Or maybe, watching the way her lips moved when she spoke, she would put her lips on him - somewhere, anywhere!, soon! When he kissed her and she pressed up against him, he had to shift away because it was almost too much ( _what is wrong with me?_ ).

"Sheldon? Are you okay?" Amy picked up his hand, which he noticed was trembling, and kissed his fingertips. "It's still me."

He nodded, but it didn't relieve the pounding aching he felt shooting up from his groin. He kissed her again, putting his palm on her stomach.  _Softer than I remember._

"Amy," he whispered.

Not able to help himself, unable to delay his desire, he traced his hand lower. Amy moaned softly when he touched her there. It felt different, too, than he remembered.  _I'm moving too fast. But this feels so good._ "Ohhh, Amy."

Touching her there, everything clouded over in his mind and the lightening bolts became almost unbearable. "Amy, please, Amy . . ." he heard himself begging.

She understood him and pulled him toward her and  _Dear Lord! How I've missed this!,_ giving his mind over to the wonderful sensation that was Amy surrounding him _._ This, too, was different than he remembered, and, yes there was the odd sensation of a string somewhere, but,  _Jesus!_ , it was good. _This is good, this is good, this good._ But his next thought was torture to him when he realized Amy was not moving in time with him.  _I need to stop, I need to slow down, I need to ask her_ -  _Nononono, too soon!_  It was too late to stop, it was too late to slow down, it was to late to ask her what was wrong, and, even as his body cried out in release and pleasure, his mind filled with humiliation and remorse.

He rolled off of her with a groan and covered his face with his hands.  _This is why people curse._  It was awful. It was the worst it had ever been. Even the first time, which was probably as fast and as awkward, he had somehow managed to save it by whispering his love for her.  _Curses!_ "Amy, I'm so sorry."

She didn't respond. He actually preferred this over anything he could imagine she might say. If she had said something condescending like "it's okay" or "it was fine," he would have screamed. Then he remembered something else that had happened - or, well, not happened. He put his hands down and rolled on his side to look at her. She was staring up at the ceiling.

"Amy, do you want me to -"

"No, thank you." She said it blandly, still looking at the ceiling.

_Frak!_ It was even worse than he thought. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"I don't think anything is damaged." She reached over and turned out the light.

_Frak, frak!_  Sheldon rolled away from her, clutching his side of the bed and wallowing in self-pity and shame.  _I am a horrible person. I don't deserve her. First, I ran away and left her alone with a sick baby. And then, after she immediately forgave me, I lose all self-control._ He jerked when he felt her arm encircle his waist.

"Shhh, Sheldon," she whispered. "It will get better. Go to sleep. Twelve-thirty will be here too soon." She kissed his back, between his shoulder blades, and then rested her head there.

He reached up and brushed his oddly damp eye.  _How had she known?_  Then he lowered his hand and took hers, resting them both over his stomach. But he was still awake when the twelve-thirty feeding came.

* * *

The next day, his mind still in an embarrassed jumble, Sheldon found himself pacing outside of Howard's lab with no idea how he had got there.  _This is absurd. I should go back to my office and try to work again._  Just as he had turned on his heel, Howard stuck his head out.

"Sheldon? Do you need something?"

"Nothing. Why would you think I need something?"

"Because I've seen you walk past my door at least four times."

Sheldon's shoulders dropped even further. He shrugged and entered Howard's lab, shutting the door behind him.

"So, what's up?" Howard asked.

"I need advise." Sheldon blew this statement out with a lot of air.

"Okay, sure. About what?"

"It's, um, personal." Sheldon looked down at his shoes.

"Did you ask Leonard? I thought personal was in his territory. I'm assigned driving, appliance repair, and explaining jokes. Raj has romance, homemaking, and anything else Martha Stewart might do."

Perspiring heavily, Sheldon didn't respond, still looking at his shoes.  _This is a bad idea. I shouldn't be here. I swore I'd never be here._

After a lengthy pause, Howard slapped the edge of one of his tables. "Oh, my God! This is about sex, isn't it?"

Sheldon looked up at his grinning friend, shooting daggers at him. "Howard, if you're going to mock me, I'm leaving."

"No, no, please just me savor this moment." Howard looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath in and then back out. "Okay, that felt good. My guess is no action since the baby. And, since the last time you even mentioned sex it sounded liked you two were auditioning for  _Deep Throat_  Part 2, you're worried."

"The informant in  _The X-Files_?"  _Why are people always bringing up random bits of unrelated information around me?_

"What?  _The X-Files_? Oh, yeah. Never mind. Am I right, no hanky-panky makes Sheldon a very dull boy?" Howard asked, the grin still plastered to his face.

"Actually, no." Sheldon wondered if that should make him feel better, but it didn't. "It's just that it was . . . uh . . . not up to our usual standards."

"So it sucked? Or, wait!, is that it? It didn't suck?"

Sheldon threw up his hands and walked toward the door.  _This was a horrible idea! I should have stuck with my original promise never to discuss this!_ He turned around at the last minute, and narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You lied. You once said sex was like pizza and that even bad pizza is delicious. Well, it's not true!"

He had just opened the door, when Howard called, "Okay, okay, wait. I'm sorry. I'll be serious. I know this is hard for you. You could have looked this up, so you obviously want to talk about it."

Sheldon started. Was Howard right? Why didn't he look it up? Why did he come down here to Howard's lab? Did he want to talk about it with someone who had actually been through it? Sheldon turned back to look at Howard again but didn't step any closer, his hand still on the door knob.

Howard sighed. "I'll tell you something embarrassing about myself and you just nod if I'm right, okay?"

Sheldon nodded and shut the door.

"And I assume this won't be discussed outside this room?"

Sheldon nodded again.

"Okay, after Jacob was born and we finally did it again, Bernie cried because it hurt. And it took forever for me to figure out how to get her off again, it was liked it had moved or changed or something. I felt like a flunkee."

Feeling his face get hot, Sheldon nodded slowly. _Close enough._

"Apparently it has to do with hormones. Lubricant helps. You can't have too much."

Sheldon nodded once more. Nodding was much safer than speaking. "Thank you," he mumbled and went to leave again.

"Actually, I have a question for you," Howard stopped him.

Turning around again, he asked, "What?"

"How is Amy?"

Sheldon's shoulders relaxed. "Quite well. Ada is sleeping six hours straight now after her twelve-thirty feeding, so we're both getting more sleep."

"Listen. I don't know how much Amy told you, but Bernie and I were in a really bad spot after Jacob was born. I beat myself up about it, I thought it was all my fault because I thought she only had a baby for me. Anyway," Howard took a deep breath, "Bernie was depressed. Like, for real. Postpartum depression. But we never realized it because we never talked. So, my best advice to you is not about sex. It's about Amy. Pay attention and talk to her."

"I talk to Amy all the time." Sheldon's heart thundered in his chest. Was something wrong with Amy? Was this Howard's way of telling him something? "Do you think Amy is depressed? Has Bernadette said something?"

"I didn't mean that. It's not my place to know these things. And, no, Bernie, hasn't said anything. Actually, she's jealous of Amy, I think. She talks about how well she seems to have adjusted. But . . ." Howard shrugged.

"But what?" Sheldon practically yelled, taking a step toward Howard.

His friend put up his hands. "Calm down. I'm not saying anything bad. I'm just trying to tell you what I learned. You came to me for advise, remember? Let me guess, when you and Amy talk, you talk about the baby? Even on your date nights?"

Sheldon thought. "Well, yes."

"And Amy is home alone all day with the baby?"

"She runs errands sometimes. She's gone out to lunch with Penny. And they had a Girls Night last week."

"With Ada?"

"Yes, with Ada. It seems to a social imperative for women to gather in groups and speak to infants in high-pitched voices."

"This is what I learned: women like Bernie and Amy, they don't do well stuck at home all day with a baby. Their brains aren't wired that way." Howard shrugged. "Maybe no woman's brain is wired that way. Even if Amy is happy and not depressed, she's still a very intelligent woman. She cannot live in a baby vacuum. It was one of the mistakes we made."

"I don't entirely understand." Sheldon took a few steps to stand right in front of Howard again. "Go on."

"Since Ada was born, have you ever had a conversation not about the baby or the house or food or sleep?"

"Yes. Last night we talked about  _Doctor Who_."  _Aha! We are doing something better than Howard and Bernadette!_

"So, just once?"

Sheldon cocked his head and thought. His pride deflated. "Yes."

"Did you and Amy fall in love talking about babies and sleep?"

"No, of course not." Suddenly it all became clear.  _And the one time we talked about Doctor Who, Amy wanted . . ._ "Oh, I see now. Do you think the two things are related? Sex and the baby vacuum?"

"Hmmm," Howard furrowed his brow. "Yes and no. The baby vacuum is about more than sex. And solving it won't turn you into Casanova. But they may overlap some. Seriously, go buy some lubricant. The biggest bottle you can find. And if that doesn't work, I'll take you this store where they sell this thing that . . ."

Then Howard told Sheldon the most pornographic thing he had ever heard. It was fascinating.

* * *

The next day, Sheldon walked over to the neuroscience division office and, after an entirely too lengthy and frustrating conversation, managed to pick up the issues of  _The Journal of Neuroscience_  and a couple of other journals that had arrived for Amy while she was on maternity leave. He took them home and thrilled at her squeal of delight and thank you kiss.

He looked down at her, her arms still around him. "I thought I'd take Ada to Retro Video Game Night tonight."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "To Leonard's? Shouldn't we ask Penny first?"

"Penny isn't going to be there. Some sort of movie thing. I didn't understand it."

"Really?"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking my daughter to a friend's house."

"Of course you are. But what will I do?"

Sheldon bent down to kiss her again. "Anything you want. Except cleaning or cooking. I expressly forbid that."

"You can't forbid me from doing anything," Amy huffed. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, and he smiled at her spark of defiance.

The next week, on their regularly scheduled Date Night, Sheldon proposed agreeing to not discuss Ada or anything domestic. Despite her obvious confusion, Amy agreed. The first five minutes were, admittedly, strained for topics, but then they fell into a pattern they had enjoyed for years. One of the articles that Amy was especially impressed with, Sheldon's work, the recently released schedule for Masterpiece Mystery, the story arc of the current season of  _Forever,_  and Comic-Con tickets.

That night, with some lubricant, it was much, much better.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews! (And, yes, I meant frak. I think if Sheldon ever really, really wants to curse, that's what it will be.)** _


	48. The Martain

**_Thank you in_ ** **_advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2018**

**Primary Topic: _The Martian_ by Andy Weir**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Little Master Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes in the Hound of the_** **_Baskervilles: A Sounds Primer_  by Jennifer Adams,** **the _Harry Potter_  series by J.K. Rowling, and the  _Lord of the Rings_  series by J.R.R. Tolkien**

* * *

Leaning his head back, Sheldon paused, but he didn't dare close his eyes. He was, although he would not admit it even to himself, procrastinating. Bedtime was meant to be a series of rituals without variation, rituals he had helped create, rituals he had insisted on with the power of science to back him up. There was the bath, then the drying off, then the lotion, then the clean diaper and the sleeper, then the rocking and the reading of a bedtime story. Just one story, the ritual was very clear on that.

At first it had been easy to stick to the plan. But, lately, with those sincere baby smiles - actual social smiles in response to stimulus like Daddy entering the room, not just reflex smiles - becoming ever more frequent, they seemed to be growing in the power to tug at his heart. He could not, however, read two books. If Amy found out, he'd never hear the end of it, especially after he had chastised her for doing that exact thing and told her she was coddling Ada.  _Perhaps not my finest moment._

So, instead, he repeated himself; it was so easy to do when you had the book memorized and didn't even need to look at the pages. He deepened his voice. "Crackle, crackle, crackle."

It worked, and Ada smiled up at him. Then she took a very slow blink.

_Just one more._  He did his best impression of a old-fashioned doorbell, just as one might find at 221B Baker Street.

Another smile, although it was smaller. Sheldon smiled back and closed the book. He had bought Amy the whole series of BabyLit books even before Ada arrived, because he knew she would love them so much. He had not factored in how much he enjoyed reading them, too. This one, the Sherlock Holmes one, was his favorite.

Ada's eyes appeared to have closed for good, and he stood carefully and took the steps to her crib. He kissed her forehead before putting her down. "Goodnight, Ada. Daddy loves you."

He watched her for a moment, smiled softly again, and shut the door on his way out. Amy looked up at him from her phone just as he returned to the living room.

"Did you get the email from your mother about George's birthday?"

He reached into his back pocket to get his own phone. It was empty. "My phone!"

"Did you lose it again?"

"I did not lose it! It must have fallen out of my pocket. If Apple didn't insist on making their phones thinner every year, they would never be misplaced."

"Maybe you should start wearing pants that fit and your pockets wouldn't be so loose." She was still scrolling, her face lit by the small screen.

"What's wrong with my pants? I've worn this same brand and style of pants since before we met."

"Exactly." She looked up at him. "They don't highlight your assets nearly well enough."

"Honestly, Amy. Just because my posterior happens to be a very fine specimen doesn't mean I should to share it with the whole world." He sat down next to her on the sofa, in his spot.

"And your legs. But good point. More for me." She smirked. "Here, I'll call you and we'll be able to hear it."

"No!"

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why not?"

"What if . . . what if it fell out in Ada's room and it wakes her up?"

"Okay, so just go in there and see if it's in the rocking chair."

"No!" He noticed Amy's furrow had deepened. "Uh . . . what if she's not asleep yet and my going in there agitates her? And . . . and it's going on Do Not Disturb soon anyway. I'll just find it tomorrow."

"I can ask Siri to locate -"

"No! Um, it's not necessary. Leave it."

She narrowed her eyes and turned her head slightly. "Hmmmmm."

He tried to paint a visage of innocence until she shook her head.

"Whatever," she said. She sat her phone down on the coffee table in front of them, next to his Legos. "Book Club Night?"

"Yes," Sheldon nodded, and they angled toward each other. "Where you able to finish it? Now that you're back at work?"

"I finished today during my mid-day pump. Having something else to think about makes it go faster."

"Um, okay, good." Sheldon had very quickly gotten used to the sight of Amy breast-feeding, but the one time she had pumped in front of him had terrified him. No wonder she hated it so much, it was like she was turning into a Borg. " _The Martian_?"

"I liked it."

"That's it? You just liked it? I thought it was one of the best books I've ever read!"

"Better than  _Harry Potter_  and  _Lord of the Rings_?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

He tilted his head slightly. "No, maybe not. It's a very different type of story, so it's hard to compare. But perhaps equal."

"Was the science accurate?"

"It was hard to judge because there weren't any actual equations given for me to double check. But the ideas and explanations were mostly sound. I was thinking all my friends should read this book and then we should discuss it on a mathematical level."

"You could buy them all a copy for Christmas," Amy suggested.

"But the movie comes out next month, and I think if you knew the ending you may not be inclined to read the book. That's why I picked it for this month."

"So do it now. Surprise gifts are the best gifts."

Sheldon was about to make a comment alluding to Amy's use of cliches or her sentimental nature or hippies in general, when he realized that, per usual, she was right. "Yes, that's a good idea." He paused. "You won't be offended?"

"No." Amy's eyebrows dipped. "Why?"

"I don't know. Book Club is our thing. But then if I have a variation of Book Club with my friends . . ."

"That's sweet, Sheldon," she smiled, "but, no, it doesn't bother me. We read it together first."

"Okay, I'll do it." He grinned back at her. "What did you like about it?"

"I thought it was very well written. I was hooked from the very beginning. I was impressed by that since most of the book is basically one man talking to himself. I'm sure it's hard to write that. The pacing was good; there were episodes of tension that were spaced well enough to keep the plot moving and so that it didn't seem repetitive. And there were nice touches of humor."

"I knew you loved it! I agree with everything you said. It was just magical!"

"I don't know if I'd use the word magical, but, yes, I did like." She leaned over suddenly and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

"What was that for?"

"Since when do I need a reason?" She kissed him again. "You're so cute when you're excited."

He felt himself blush with pleasure as she sat back again. "What was your favorite part?" she asked.

"I liked the part when he was modifying the MAV rover. Oh, and the slingshot maneuver was interesting idea, although I really did want the calculation for that. And of course the climax was edge-of-your-seat action!"

"That was night you stayed up too late reading in bed?"

"You read in bed all the time!" Sheldon protested.

"Yes, but after you're usually asleep." Then she smiled at him. "I like it best when we both read in bed."

"Me, too." He smiled back.

"I was thinking, while I was reading, that old you would have loved this to happen to him: alone in space, no one to bother you, all the time you needed to do science experiments."

"The old me?" Sheldon asked, confused.

"Why, yes," Amy blinked. "The Sheldon I met. But not now, you've changed. I'm not sure it suits you now."

"I have not changed! Sheldon Cooper does not change because one cannot improve upon perfection. I would love this! It would be quiet, no one would interrupt me, I could think in peace, I could sit wherever I wanted, I could be alone with my great thoughts, I could -" He paused.  _Huh._

"You could what?" Amy asked, her face very serious.

"Well, I suppose I would miss my family."

Amy gave him that beautiful, soft smile with the misty eyes he so loved.  _I've pleased her._  "Oh, Sheldon, you've never said that before."

"Said what?"

"'My family.'"

He cocked his head, rifling through his memories. "What else would I call you and Ada? Of course you're my family."

Amy blinked slowly at him, the soft smile still on her face, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek again, softly this time.

"What was your favorite part?" Sheldon asked, clearing his throat, feeling the pull of the slippery slope of emotions. _Better get this Book Club back on track._

"The jokes about the disco music."

"Amy! It was a serious book. Lots of hard science fiction!"

She laughed, and it was only then he realized she was being sarcastic. "Oh, Sheldon, you're so cute when you're outraged!" She leaned over kissed him once more, but this time on his lips.

He would have liked for her to stay, but she shifted away. "Sorry -" as though she had read his mind "- but I need to empty the dishwasher so I can put tonight's dishes in it."

Sheldon nodded because he didn't want dirty dishes left out any more than she did. Well, maybe long enough kiss her more . . . but it was too late. Amy got up to go to the kitchen and he settled onto the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, his fingers reaching for his Lego pieces.

"You know," Amy said from across the room as he heard her open the dishwasher, "before long you won't be able to play with your Legos there. You need to start thinking of an alternative location."

"I'm not playing, I'm building. It's the library at  _Downton Abbey_. It's for the bookshelf. You said all our Lego dioramas were of science fiction scenes." He sighed. "But, yes, I suppose you're right. It's a shame there is a gap between Ada's certain interest in plastic building blocks and when it's safe for us to start building with Duplos together. Although, being  _homo novus_ , she will probably master Duplo blocks before the suggested eighteen month mark."

"Oh, like an engineer?" Amy asked. He heard the stacking of dishes in the cabinet.

"No, not like an engineer!" he snorted.

Amy chuckled behind him, but before Sheldon could think of an appropriate response he heard Neil Diamond's voice singing.

_"The story of my life is very plain to read_  
_It starts the day you came_  
_And ends the day you leave  
_ _The story of my life begins and ends with you"_

His arm froze in mid-air and his stomach flipped. A quick glance at the other side of the coffee table confirmed Amy's phone was longer there.  _Drat_.

"Aren't you going to get that?" she called from the kitchen.

"Get what?"

"Your phone. It seems that it now possible to locate it. If I were to guess, I would say it's stuck behind a couch cushion."

"All I hear is your iTunes. My ringtone always has been and always will be Darth Vader's theme song."

"Sheldon Cooper, you are a horrible liar."

"I have no idea to what you are referring."

"How long have you had a unique ring tone for me that sounds suspiciously like Neil Diamond, I wonder?" she asked in a dreamy voice.

He tried very hard to concentrate on his Legos. He had worked hard to assemble all of the correct pieces to build this for Amy.

"And is that  _The Story of My Life_? Hmmm, just listen to the lyrics. Why, it sounds like a love song," she continued.

Thankfully, at that moment the music stopped. Only to be followed by the sound of his voice mail greeting on speaker phone coming from the kitchen.

"Sheldon, this is your wife. I just called to tell you that you are a sentimental old fool. And that I love you for it," Amy said.

Then he turned and reached behind him to between the couch cushions and retrieved his phone, never looking over the back of the sofa at Amy's face. He didn't need to see it to know she was grinning with satisfaction.

He may have been grinning, too.


	49. The Usual

**The Usual**

* * *

_Thankfully, at that moment the music stopped. Only to be followed by the sound of his voice mail greeting on speaker phone coming from the kitchen._

_"Sheldon, this is your wife. I just called to tell you that you are a sentimental old fool. And that I love you for it," Amy said._

* * *

That night, it was the usual.

As Amy lay in the bliss that was Sheldon's arms, listening to him drop off to sleep, her body both adored and satisfied, she allowed her mind to wander toward the various meanings of their usual.

Most often, he covered her in his love and need, giving to her from above, his face so close to hers. She wondered once, after a night of gentle love-making in this fashion, why the missionary position was mocked. Even though it was true she could only rarely reach a climax without assistance, she found it wasn't necessary. And not just because Sheldon had already brought her there. It was about being with him in the closest possible way, his chest sliding and teasing over hers, never feeling more secure in his embrace and his love. She felt like his secret, his treasure, something he was keeping hidden from everyone else.

There were a few variations. Sometimes she would lengthen her legs and wrap them around his, her heels resting in the crook of his knees. Often, like that, she enjoyed putting at least one hand on his fine buttocks, feeling it contract and dimple with each thrust that he made. At other times, she would lift her legs up, and, in one of her favorite sensations, Sheldon would help her, running his palm along the back of her thigh, burying himself deeper into her.

There was a rhythm they had perfected, too. Sheldon liked calm and slow. This had surprised her. She had assumed sex with Sheldon would be faster, with more force, the same ferocious energy he applied to almost everything. But, no, almost always when he set the pace, it was like he was taking his time, almost always bringing her pleasure first, and then prolonging her ecstasy as long as he could. Love from Sheldon was smooth as glass.

Especially in the mornings, when Sheldon was just as likely to wrap himself around her from behind, slipping one arm under her, holding on to her so tightly as he loved her. Then it was very slow.

Sometimes, inflamed in some fashion, by his voice, his body, she would take control of the situation and ride him out to sea, his hands pressed against her hips, cupping her bottom as she leaned down into him, her hair falling around them, enclosing them in a private tent of kisses. As good as this was, it was even better if she had the forethought to stack all the bed pillows up for him to lean back upon. Mmmmm, yes, that angle was the best. This way, with her on top, Sheldon told her the speed fluctuated wildly with no predictable pattern, and it was all he could do to keep up. She was fearful he disliked it, that he found it disorderly. No, he reassured her with a kiss. It was one of the few surprises he loved.

Things had changed with time, of course. He was more willing talk about it now. He had gotten more vocal after a few months as, she suspected, his worries subsided. And, of course, it could not forever be their honeymoon or the babymoon, or even, she smiled at the memory, the four times a week average she had once bragged about. Now, busy adjusting to the constantly changing role as parents, they managed once a week. Although last week, they had squeezed in a second time, so perhaps they were rebounding.

She had been worried, after Ada, about her body. Things were so different, less firm, her breasts had lost their perkiness, her stomach and hips were scarred by stretch marks, and she could not seem to loose all of the weight. During the day, Sheldon had never said anything about these changes, even when she complained that none of her old clothes fit, and she wasn't sure what that silence meant. But then, the second time they made love after Ada was born (the first time was awful and best forgot), he had slowly kissed each stretch mark before burying his face in her newly flabby stomach. He still didn't say anything, but, this time, she knew exactly what he meant.

Not that the mechanics mattered as much as the emotions to Amy. Well, of course they mattered, but she never had to worry that once Sheldon decided he was going to do this that he would apply himself to doing it to the very best of his ability. And, boy, did he!

What mattered was the way he made her feel in her soul. She could not ever imagine having some sort of casual sexual encounter. This meeting with Sheldon, those precious moments when they were the closest they could possibly be, made her heart ache with joy and contentment. She felt like the luckiest woman in the world. He repeatedly surprised her with his depth of feeling, the words he would occasionally whisper in her ear while he was loving her in every way it was possible to love someone. Even if he didn't speak, the look in his eyes was the most beautiful thing she had ever known, and it made the ardor in her chest almost burn through her skin.

That night, the pleasure of seeing a glimmer of his carefully hidden romantic side peeking through had touched her more than could say. She had taken her sentimental old fool to bed, and, after he had pleasured her, she had taken him in. She wanted him with a passion that had not lessened with time, and she coaxed him as deeply as she could, and he had brought her leg up with understanding.

Sheldon shifted slightly, and she met his next thrust with a throaty exhale. He smiled down at her before leaning his forehead against hers. Her body moved in time with his, and each time he reached for her, deep inside her, a tiny reflection of her earlier pleasure rippled through her.

"Ohh, Sheldon," she moaned, just before he kissed her.

His cheek brushed against hers, and he whispered, short of breath, raspy with his own approaching climax, "I love you so much, I want the whole world to hear it."

And then her name was on his lips.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	50. The Great Gatsby

**_Thank you in_ ** **_advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2018**

**Primary Topic: _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The Little Mermaid_ by Hans Christian Andersen**

* * *

Two things happened at the exact same time.

The first was the buzzing at the door which, given the time, was almost certainly the delivery person with the Thai food.

The second was that Ada decided to make her first successful raspberry with a mouth full of rice cereal. Rice the consistency of gruel went everywhere, including Amy's clothes and glasses. Ada giggled in her highchair and kicked her legs with glee at her success.

Sheldon went to the door, and Amy sat down the small bowl of cereal. She took off her dirty glasses, blurring her daughter's satisfied face. "I can't decide if you're a diabolical genius or just like your father."

"Those are the same things. And of course she's a genius," Sheldon said as he sat the food down on the table next to them. "Maybe she just doesn't like rice. I don't blame her. Oatmeal is a far superior cereal."

"Oatmeal is next week, Sheldon, and you know that. You printed the Early Solid Foods schedule for the refrigerator."

Sheldon took the spoon out of her hand. "Go clean up. I'll take care of this."

"Now, Miss Ada," Amy listened to Sheldon as she walked down the hall toward the bedroom, "what a very big mess you have made. It is easy to think that table manners are a social construct unrelated to the importance of science, but remember that the trait of cleanliness is fully supported by scientific studies into germ theory that prove . . ."

Amy smiled as she shut the bedroom door. She washed her face and her glasses, changed her blouse, and debated about the need for a cardigan before returning to the great room. She could only half-hear Sheldon's monologue from the spare bathroom as she passed.  _What a shame, they are excessively entertaining._

She busied herself completing the usual preparations for their Friday night gathering, and she was just setting the last glass on the table when the doorbell buzzed again.

A warm smile spread across her face as she open the door to their guests. "Howard and Bernadette! I'm so glad you decided to come after all. Although I would have completely understood if you had chosen a date night instead."

"We figured we might as well enjoy a Friday night of adult conversation without constant interruptions from Jacob. Just like old times," Bernadette said.

"Don't let her fool you. She might break down crying at any minute," Howard said. "She just wanted something else to think about."

"Howie!"

"Howard, Bernadette's emotions are valid and understandable. Even though a mother knows her child will be perfectly safe spending his first night away from home with his grandparents, it does not lessen the anxiety," Amy said.

"Well, I'm just enjoying the idea of morning nookie. Maybe it's not extinct after all!" Howard said, rubbing his palms together. Bernadette shot him a dirty look before looking back at Amy. "Hey, where's Sheldon?"

"We had an incident involving rice cereal, and he's cleaning up."

The door buzzed again, and Amy admitted Raj and Stuart.

"Hello, everyone!" Raj cheered, followed by Stuart's more glum, "Hey."

"Oh, good," Howard said, "the manny is here!"

Raj's head swiveled, "Where is the little guy? And my princess?"

"I think Ada may be getting a quick bath. And Jacob is at his grandparents," Amy answered.

"Is this the first night away from home? What's the occasion?" Stuart asked.

"Morning nookie. We're keeping it from going extinct."

"Umm, okay," Stuart said, just as Amy heard the bathroom door open.

"Oh, good, the manny is here," Sheldon said from the hallway, carrying Ada with him. Raj put out his arms, and Sheldon deposited her there.

"Who's my princess? Who's a big girl?" Raj cooed. "What are you wearing? Are these foxes? Are they dancing in a forest? And . . . "

Sheldon shook his head. "One minute I'm having an educational conversation with her about epidemiology, and the next she is subjected to the Indian love child of Tim Gunn and Walt Disney."

"Sheldon," Amy warned.

"Aren't you impressed I know who Tim Gunn is?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Okay, kind of," Amy smiled in reply.

"Howard," he turned away from her, "I see you were successful in your plan to be childless in order to rediscover the joys of coitus at daybreak."

"Sheldon . . ." Howard hissed.

Amy glanced at Bernadette; but she was talking to Stuart and, fortunately for her husband, missed the remark. Otherwise the joys of coitus at daybreak may be lost to Howard forever.

"The food is here, let's eat," Amy announced.

"Leonard and Penny will be late?" Bernadette asked.

"As usual," Sheldon said.

They all started taking their established spots around the dining table ( _how times have changed_ , Amy thought), when she noticed Raj was still holding Ada. "You can put her down on her play mat, Raj, she's already eaten."

"No, it's okay, I like hanging out with her. She can sit on my lap."

"Watch your silverware then. She's drawn to shiny things, and she started reaching for them this week."

"As all princesses should be," Raj cooed at Ada.

"She'd also drawn to sharp knives. How are you going to make that fit into your fairy tales?" Sheldon asked.

"Perhaps she's a fan of Hans Christen Andersen," Amy answered.

"The guy who wrote  _The Little Mermaid_?" Bernadette asked.

"His original fairy tales are much darker than their popular remakes. Especially  _The Little Mermaid_ ," Stuart offered.

The door buzzed again, and Sheldon got up to get it and the conversation switched to a chorus of hellos. Amy could not help but be plucked by jealousy when she saw Penny, her beautiful golden locks flowing, her skin glowing, her smile shimmering, her body beautiful. She looked like Venus, raising from the sea, stepping out of her clamshell, even in her jeans and tee shirt. And last week at the  _Crocazzard_   _2_  premiere, she had positively shone with radiance. Penny was currently ten weeks into what Amy could only imagine was the most perfect pregnancy in existence ("I don't get what all the fuss is about. I've never felt better!"), and, of course, this fit entirely with her charmed life. Amy felt guilty being jealous of her friend, not the least because it had taken Penny several discouraging months to conceive, but she also could not help but remember that in her tenth week her stomach was rolling and her eyes never felt so heavy. She shook her head slightly as this goddess of fertility walked by, but then her eyes caught Bernadette's and they shared a small smile of commiseration.

Penny walked past Raj on the way to her seat, and ran her hand through Ada's hair. "How are you, sweetie?"

"Where's Jacob?" Leonard asked, sitting down himself.

"He's at his first sleepover with his grandparents," Bernadette said.

"How fun!" Penny answered. "Do you guys have anything special planned?"

"Morning nookie," everyone said in unison. Everyone except Bernadette. She turned daggers on Howard.

"I just said it once. In passing. Just now. Only once," Howard protested. Bernadette's look continued to convey that morning nookie was not happening.

Before Bernadette could reply, Penny said, "You know if you do that you have to pay royalties to Sheldon and Amy. From what I've heard, and I've heard more than enough, they have that patented."

Amy felt her face grow warm, and she braced herself for Sheldon's comeback. Before he could even open his mouth, though, Leonard's laugh broke through. Amy couldn't help but join him and soon they were all laughing. Well, Sheldon just looked resigned and that was the best for which she could hope. She reached down and squeezed his leg under the table, and when he looked at her she tilted her head softly.

"Okay, everyone I need your attention," Sheldon said. "Leaving that topic behind for good, I want to propose a toast." Amy raised her eyebrows. "I assume you've all heard the good news, that we have in our presence Caltech's newest tenured researcher of neurobiology, Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler."

"Woo hoo!" "Yeah, Amy!" "Congratulations!"

Amy looked at Sheldon again, impressed and touched by his generosity. She also felt a little guilty that she had not offered a toast for him two years ago when he got tenure, but then, he had lost no time in sending out his own self-congratulatory emails.

"Now," Sheldon said, "everyone eat quickly and then leave as soon as possible."

"Sheldon!" Amy said. "Why are you being so rude?"

"Because it's Book Club Night."

"Can't you have Book Club later?" Stuart asked.

"They can," Leonard offered, "but what Sheldon is really saying is that we're not smart enough for Book Club."

"Yeah, I don't how you missed it, but there are only two members in the Cooper Fowler Mutual Admiration Society," Howard said.

"Hey!" Amy yelled.

"Now, Amy, he's correct," Sheldon said.

Amy swiveled her head and furrowed her brow. "Sheldon, that's an insult."

"Not if it's true. Do I regard you with wonder, pleasure, and approval? Do I hold your work in high regard? Do I take pleasure in your company? Do I marvel at several aspects of your personality? Yes. Do you feel the same about me?" He shrugged slightly. "It seems that you do."

Amy stared at him for a second. "Okay, everybody out!"

"What?" "Huh?" "Amy, I thought you said I was being rude."

"That was about Book Club. I'm referring to - what was it you called it, Howard? - nookie. Except," she looked down at her watch, "it's going to be 6:49 nookie."

Sheldon's shocked face was outstanding. He swallowed, hard. "Uh. Uh."

"Is she serious?" Bernadette leaned closer to Howard to whisper.

"In their natural habitat, the two eggheads circle, in some sort of mating ritual," Howard said, in his best imitation of Jim Fowler from  _Wild Kingdom_. "Heard but never seen before, will mankind finally witness the elusive act of intelligentsia coitus, uh, uh-"

"Stupendous," Sheldon interrupted him, finally looking away from Amy. "The last word, the word you're looking for, is stupendous."

Everyone laughed, and Sheldon looked alarmed.

"Sheldon made a sex joke!" Raj said.

Amy's husband turned to her. "Was that funny? I was being serious."

"It was brilliant," she replied. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

"Well, I learned from the best, and that is you," Sheldon said.

"You guys do know that's exactly the kind of thing we're talking about, don't you?" Leonard said.

Sheldon shrugged. "Let's go back to Book Club. Yes, it's Book Club Night, and -"

"What did you read?" Penny interrupted.

" _The Great Gatsby_ ," Amy replied.

"Oh, I love that movie! Leonardo di Caprio looking very fine! Uh, I mean, he's a wonderful, nuanced actor," Penny quickly corrected herself.

"I remember reading that book in high school," Bernadette said.

"I'm pretty sure we all read it in high school," Leonard replied.

A murmur of accent went around the table.

"I didn't," Raj said.

"Really?" Howard asked.

"I grew up in India."

"But you've seen the movie, right? So you know the story," Leonard asked.

"Of course. And Penny is right. Leo looking very fine indeed." Raj wiggled his eyebrows.

"Okay, if we all know the story and we're all intelligent people, I say we can all be a part of this Book Club," Bernadette said.

"I disagree," Sheldon said. "You're not all intelligent. Penny is here, Stuart went to art school, and Howard only has his Masters."

"Hey!" Three voices protested.

"I think we should have to have Book Club right now," Leonard said. "Just to prove you wrong, Sheldon."

Everyone swiveled to look at them, and then Amy looked at Sheldon. He shrugged and she shrugged back and the decision was made. But no one spoke.

"So, how does this Book Club usually start?" Stuart asked.

"The person whose turn it was to pick the book has to say why they picked it," Sheldon answered.

"Who picked this book? I'm going to guess Amy," Penny said.

Amy nodded. "Yes, it was me. Well, I don't know why, exactly. I guess I was thinking about woman in literature, who are beautiful and seem . . . blessed -" she felt her face growing warm "- and, I don't know, it made me realize I hadn't read it in a long time."

"Huh, that's a little weird," Bernadette said.

"No, I get it," Penny said. All eyes swiveled to her, even Amy, who was feeling hotter by the minute. "Amy is a mother of a girl. She was probably thinking about how girls are seen by others, right, Amy? That's sort of sciencey. Psychology or whatever."

A low sound went around the the table, and Amy and Penny smiled at each other.

"Daisy is seen like an object, right? Tom has her, he treats her like a trophy, and Gatsy wants her. I think even Nick is using her a bit, because he wants to be friends with Gatsy so much, he wants some of his wealth or allure to rub off on him, so he uses Daisy to get closer to him," Leonard offered.

"All the woman are objects in this book. Myrtle is a object, too," Stuart said. "Maybe not Jordan, though."

"I think Jordan is the only real enigma," Amy said. "Why is she there? What role does she play? Even her background is sketchy."

"Gatsy's an enigma, too," Howard said. "Right, isn't that the mystery of the book? Who was Gatsy before he was the elusive millionaire?"

"But you find out who Gatsy was," Raj said.

"Do we find out who Gatsy was in the book? I remember, in school, we all had to write an essay on it. So it couldn't have been obvious. Weren't there at least a couple of theories?" Bernadette turned and looked at Raj. "I think the movie made it more clear than the book."

"Essays! There were so many essays about this book!" Howard said. "Did anyone else have that?"

"What is the meaning of the green light?" Stuart said.

"Exactly!"

"I thought it was obvious," Sheldon said. "It represents Gatsby's longing for the one thing he can't purchase with money, although he's trying to."

There was a shuffle as Ada started to get fussy and restless on Raj's lap.

"Here, Raj, I'll take her," Amy offered.

"No, I've got her," Stuart said, taking her from Raj. "I'm done eating."

"But is it just Daisy?" Amy asked, watching Stuart stretch his face into ever more absurd contortions, trying to keep Ada occupied. It seemed to be mostly succeeding.

"Amy's right, Sheldon," Leonard said. "It's got to be more than just Daisy if you're going to write 2000 words about it."

"Do you think authors seriously put, what's it called?, symbolism in their books? Or do English teachers just make that up?" Penny asked. "I always thought they were making it up. Maybe Fitzgerald just like the way it sounded. Or liked the color green."

"Please, Penny," Sheldon snorted. "Just because you failed - ouch!"

Amy removed her elbow from Sheldon's ribs. "Why do you think we all have to read it in high school? I got much more out of it now, as an adult. The relentlessness of the rat race, the pitfalls of striving too hard for success, money doesn't buy happiness, all of that."

"Because it's a love story," Raj said.

"But is it?" Amy asked. "It doesn't end well for, well, anyone."

"I thought it was romantic when I was high school," Penny said. "But now, I don't know. I think Gatsy fell in love with someone who changed a lot, but he still thinks she is the same person. But he can't see that."

"Doesn't Daisy seem, I don't know, ditzy?" Howard asked. "Who wants a ditzy woman like that? No matter how hot she is. A brain is much better in the long run. And not every man can have the perfect combination of brains and beauty that I've scored."

"Oh, Howie," Bernadette purred and ran her hand through Howard's hair. Morning nookie was back on.

"I don't think she's a ditz, as you put it," Sheldon said.

"Really? I think you of all people would see her vain and without intelligential worth. Or something like that," Leonard said.

"She'd vain, all right, but she's not stupid. She's probably the most intelligent character in the book," Sheldon explained. "I think she's in complete control of almost the entire plot. She manipulates people to get what she wants. She knows that Tom wants a pretty, foolish wife and so she acts like one to maintain her wealth and status. She chooses to ignore his bigotry and his affairs for the same reason. She takes her own affair with Gatsby only as far as she knows she can get away with it. Then, when things start to spiral out of control, she takes advantage of him one last time; she lets him take the blame for her crime, and she clings to her financial stability and flees. She is constantly building and adjusting her façade to maintain the lifestyle to which she has become accustomed. She as good as admits that to Nick, when she tells him that she wants her daughter to grow up to a be a fool. She wants her daughter to not have to work and be so in control all the time, to be a natural fool without having to be plagued by the effort. She knows exactly what she is doing."

No one answered immediately. Amy was looking at Sheldon's profile. She didn't just love this man, she was completely, utterly, hopelessly besotted with him. When he was finished speaking her turned his face to look at her, and she smiled at him. His eyes smiled back.

"Wow, Sheldon, that was really deep," Raj said. "About feelings and stuff."

Sheldon turned away from her, too soon. "Well, it  _is_ Book Club. I could point out what high standards Amy and I have, that if you cannot stand the cerebral heat you should get out of the lab, but then you'd only accuse of us of being self-congratulatory to the point of exaggeration again. Even though it's impossible to exaggerate Amy's worth in this enterprise."

"Annnnd, again, he does it," Howard said.

"Well, I think it's romantic," Raj protested.

"The book?" Bernadette asked.

"No, the Shamy," he replied.

Before either Amy or Sheldon could reply, Ada let out a full cry from Stuart's arms. "Sorry, my sushing skills don't seem to be working tonight," he said.

Amy got up, walked around the table, and took Ada from him, her blue eyes full of water. "It's not you. She's teething. I'll give her some Tylenol and see if I can get her to sleep early if I rock her."

She walked past Sheldon, and he started to get up. "No," Amy said softly, grazing his shoulder with her fingers, "I've got her. You stay here and enjoy your dinner."

Pulling her crying daughter in closer to her chest, Amy walked down the hallway, the call of seven voices saying "Goodnight, Ada!" ringing behind her. She whispered into Ada's hair, "See, Ada, you just never know what is going to happen on Book Club Night."


	51. The Great Gatsby - Bonus Scene

_**There's a surprise bonus scene this "month"! Actually, it's really a series of silly drabbles, not a single scene. But I hope you enjoy them nonetheless.** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2018**

**Bonus Scene: The Cooper Fowler Mutual Admiration Society**

* * *

March 2015

"This is so exciting! Our first dinner party as newly-weds!" Amy cheered.

"Thanks," Leonard replied, sitting in his usual chair, his hand threaded through Penny's. "We'll just pretend we don't eat over here every week."

"No, this is different. See? There's a tablecloth on the coffee table and everything. And no delivery. I cooked enchiladas. It's an official dinner party!" The corner of Amy's eyes were drawn to Sheldon, standing at the island, struggling with a jar of salsa.

"Amy's enchiladas are even better than my mother's!" Sheldon added, before taking a deep breath to try the jar again.

"Awww, that's sweet," Penny said. "Here, Sheldon, I'll open it."

"Oh, no. Your Nebraska man hands have served us well in the past, but Amy has got quite the trick. Her jar opening technique is so much more interesting than yours." Sheldon passed the jar to Amy.

Amy proceeded to tuck the jar between her knees and squatted. She grabbed the top of the jar and grunted loudly. It was, to put it mildly, unattractive. The jar popped.

"Wow," Penny said, her eyes wide. "That was quite a sight."

"Isn't it, though?" Amy said. "I have superior grip strength in my thighs. We measured it."

"Ain't she grand?" Sheldon added. "I could watch her do that every day."

Penny leaned closer to Leonard and whispered, "Do you think-"

"I don't ever want to think about it again," he cut her off.

* * *

September 2015

Amy opened the door to the sounds of video games.

"Hello, Amy," Sheldon called from his spot, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"How's the study going?" Leonard asked, also not turning to look at her.

"Very well. I should be done next week," Amy answered, putting down her purse before walking to the kitchen for dinner. She smiled softly at the way both Sheldon and Leonard tilted and shifted their bodies to see around her as she passed in front of the television.

"Is this banana bread?" she asked form the island, looking at the loaf of bread sliced on a plate.

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention it," Sheldon said.

"Sheldon, you made banana bread! I'm so excited." Amy picked up a piece and starting spreading butter on it. "I'm sure it will be wonderful. You should have tried your had at cultivated breads long ago, because you make the best long-fermented bread. It's a skill and a gift you have, and I'm so pleased you've decided to expand it into other areas of baking."

Raising the slice to her lips, she opened her mouth.

"Actually, I made the banana bread," Leonard said.

Amy quickly pulled the slice away. "You know, on second thought, I shouldn't endanger my girlish figure with subpar carbohydrates."

"I'm sitting right here," Leonard mumbled.

* * *

May 2016

"Guess what, you guys!" Raj said, sitting down with his food. "I got time in the telescope lab on Monday. Who wants to come join me?"

"Why?" Penny asked.

"Because on Monday, May 9th, a rare transit of Mercury across the Sun occurs. It's one of the few times Mercury will move directly between the Earth and the Sun. A transit will not occur again until 2039. Additionally, this transit will be visible in North America, which is even more rare," Sheldon explained.

"Cool, I'd love to come watch," Howard answered.

"Count me in," Leonard said.

It took Sheldon a moment to realize everyone was staring at him. "Oh, thank you, Raj, but I won't be attending. Amy and I took the afternoon off, and we will be watching NASA's feed online at home."

"You'd rather watch NASA's feed via some crappy webcam than get a chance to view it through one our nation's most powerful telescopes?" Leonard asked.

"Well, it's not just that. Sheldon is going to narrate the event for me," Amy said.

"But I'm an astrophysicist! Who is more qualified to narrate this than me?" Raj protested.

"Raj, we really do appreciate the offer, but I think we can all agree Sheldon is the most qualified person to narrate just about anything, not just the rare transit of Mercury across the sun. Plus," Amy said, "we might make a game of it."

"Oh, I didn't know there was an astronomy version of Trivial Pursuit. Are you-" Bernadette said.

"Don't," Howard stopped her.

* * *

January 2017

"Hey, what are you guys doing next Saturday night? Stuart is going to start a Saturday night trivia competition at the store, and it would mean a lot to him if you guys came and played," Raj said as they all took their seats in the cafeteria. "I'm helping him with the questions. Competition will be between teams of two, and the first week is all about  _Doctor Who_."

"I call dibs on Sheldon!" Howard yelled.

"Why do you get Sheldon and his eidetic memory? He's my best friend and former roommate!" Leonard protested.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Sheldon said, shaking his head. "I realize that my friendship is the most valuable in either of your lives, but clearly Amy will be my partner. She has a genius-level IQ. And her expansive knowledge of literature allows her to comprehend abstract concepts such as irony, symbolism, and fore-shadowing, to name just a fraction of the grand ideas she has mastered. She is clearly a far more superior partner than either one of you could ever hope to be."

"Wow, Sheldon tell us how you really feel," Howard mumbled.

"Very well. I feel you and Leonard should form your own team, and then Amy and I can enjoy pulverizing you. And, later, we'll have another good laugh remembering it together. She does a pretty spot-on Howard impression."

* * *

October 2017

"Amy, that sounds exciting! I'm so happy for you," Bernadette gushed. "You know, I'm sure Howard wouldn't mind staying home with Jacob if you want me to go furniture shopping with you Saturday."

"No, thank you," Amy said, taking a drink of her water. "Sheldon will be going."

"Really? Does he even care?" Penny asked over her wine glass. "I feel sorry for you, having to spend a day shopping with Sheldon."

"Yeah, Amy, let me go instead! I love furniture!" Bernadette said, perhaps a little tipsy from her own wine intake.

"I've seen your taste in furniture, Bernadette, and it will never work for us. It's all too diminutive and breakable. Which makes sense for you and Howard, but Sheldon and I have very stringent standards. We need extremely sturdy and stable furniture. Sheldon excels at determining when furniture is strong enough to meet our needs." Then she wiggled her eyebrows. "Especially when it comes to bedroom furniture."

Bernadette leaned closer to Penny and deepened her voice, "I don't know weather I find that insulting or disturbing."

"Both." Penny took a gulp of wine. "But I think she's right."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	52. Daybreak Coitus

**Daybreak Coitus**

* * *

_"Howard," he turned away from her, "I see you were successful in your plan to be childless in order to rediscover the joys of coitus at daybreak."_

* * *

Even before he was awake, Sheldon knew what it was. The heavy pushing between his shoulder blades, the vice grip on his waist. Amy. As his eyelids fluttered open ( _6:25 exactly_ ), he didn't need to look down to see that all the blankets were spilling off of his side of the bed. Amy was cold.

Carefully, trying not to wake her, he rolled on his back to pull some blankets back over her. Her hands loosened from his waist, and she mumbled into his chest as he rolled all the way over to hold her closer and warm her up.

Saturday morning.

Before Amy, Saturday morning was an unwavering series of events. He would set his alarm to wake up even earlier than his natural time, get up, and eat cereal in his spot while watching reruns of  _Doctor Who_. After Amy, all hell broke loose.

At first, Amy's presence in bed had not been a major change. He would extricate himself from the Amy-is-cold-and-burrowing-into-my-back position, leave her to sleep in on her own, and watch _Doctor Who_. But then, sooner than he expected . . . well, he found a much better ways to spend his early Saturday mornings than  _Doctor Who._  Even after the novelty of finally putting his morning erection to use had faded, the sheer enjoyment never dulled and he almost always tried to start some sort of alternative Saturday morning activity. Doctor who?

Daybreak coitus.

Sheldon discovered that daybreak coitus was different, very different, than coitus almost any other time of day. It could be a lot of things at those other times, but it involved words like steamy and sultry and torrid. Yes, it could be soft and slow and subdued, too, but it wasn't the same. In the morning, it was quieter and more tender and delicate. It was just as warm and as comforting as the blankets that wrapped them.

Then everything had changed again, first by the force of Mother Nature and then by the force of a baby, and daybreak coitus was elusive. Most of the time, a child on a very rigid schedule was a wonderful thing. But on a Saturday morning, when Sheldon would have preferred to make warm love to his wife and fall back to sleep with her, it was not a wonderful thing.

The best that could be hoped for is that Ada would sleep until seven, before he was forced to sooth her cries with a clean diaper and deliver her to Amy for her breakfast while he showered. This was the new ritual. He would let Amy fall back to sleep and he would take Ada to the living room with him. They would watch  _Doctor Who_  together; or, rather, lately, he would try to watch  _Doctor Who_  while Ada jabbered incessantly and chewed and drooled on her toys.

Sometimes, when the jabbering became fingernails on the chalkboard of his mind, he would retreat into a memory. A memory, more often than not, of another Saturday morning.

After the earthquake, living in Leonard and Penny's guest room, Sheldon had initially insisted on absolutely no sex when the other couple was at home. What if they were overheard? He remembered with disturbing clarity how embarrassing it had been to lay in his bedroom while coitus was taking place next door. They would only do it if they were certain that Leonard and Penny would be gone for an hour at a minimum, so that absolutely no trace evidence of their activity remained. If Amy was frustrated by his decision, and he suspected she thought it was overkill, she at least kept it to herself. Mostly. There was that one Book Club Night . . . But then Book Club almost always put Amy in the mood.

And then there was the other thing, the thing Amy had insisted was not a project or an experiment or a task with a completion date, that it was just something they were going to let happen if it was meant to be or some other hippy-dippy nonsense. But, no matter how often Sheldon tried to force it to the back of his mind, the two things combined to make sex strange at first, not the smooth ebb and flow they had perfected. First, it was the planning.  _The Hofsteders are going to a movie on Thursday, the 7:10 showing, so at 7:15 Thursday, Amy and I will have sex._  And then there was the other thing, the knowledge constantly on the edge of his brain that this wasn't just about loving Amy anymore or just because it felt good, but because they were actually attempting to create something. What if they didn't succeed? What if they weren't doing it often enough? Weren't some positions better for this than others (of course there were, he had researched it without admitting it to Amy)? What if there was something wrong with him?

He wasn't sure he believed Penny had been given a free night in the hotel less than ten minutes from their house by the movie studio. But he kept his mouth shut as it meant that he and Amy had - at last! - sixteen uninterrupted hours alone. They had a fabulous evening doing all the things they loved to do without Penny or Leonard making fun of them, and that night, well, it was very, very steamy indeed. But it was still strange, despite its bone shaking pleasures. Planned and with a purpose.

The next morning, still alone in the house, it was the warmest and most comforting it had been since the earthquake. It was spontaneous and soft and slow and tender. Still groggy from sleep, The Project had truly stayed away from his mind. They had ebbed and flowed like the most serene ocean tide. He had brought Amy close to the edge twice before he came into her, and, once there, he concentrated on sending her spiraling, at last, at the same moment he did. It was, in a word, sublime.

As both of them were geniuses, it had not taken long at all to do the math. It was that weekend they had conceived Ada. There was no way to know for sure which time. Scientifically, of course, it was neither. The perfect half of Amy had already been journeying for a few hours. And the perfect half of him would journey for a day or two more. So technically, scientifically, it had happened sometime in the middle of Sunday, probably, while he was on his computer and Amy was reading. But to Sheldon, always, it was that Saturday morning.

He waited with almost-bated breath the current Saturday morning, holding and warming Amy, until he knew it was after 6:30.  _Please, please, please, let Ada sleep_ , he prayed. Even though the night prior was Book Club Night, poor Ada had been fussy and inconsolable, the pain of her budding teeth keeping them both occupied. For once after Book Club, Amy was not in the mood.

Finally, when he was certain enough time had passed, he started the circles on Amy's hip until she woke up. Then he kissed her sleepy face until she was fully conscious, and she worked her hand into his pajama bottoms.

"Slowly," he whispered between kisses. "Very slowly."

Amy's hand travelled to the buttons on his pajama shirt, instead, and she slowly, very slowly, undressed him. He slowly, very slowly, lifted her nightgown up, working his way up with his lips: her legs, her thighs, her hips, her stomach. He buried his face between her wonderful, full breasts.

"Mmmmmm, just a little bit there," she whispered.

He moved on, taking her night gown off, kissing his way back up to her lips. They kissed slowly, softly, almost timidly, and even when his tongue met hers, he harnessed it with gentleness. Moving on, he did the same to her earlobe and her collarbones. He moved back to her lips, drawing her pleasure out of her, slowly, very slowly, circling his finger where she liked it. He breathed in every little pant she gave out. Right when she was on precipice, he pulled back, resting his palm on her stomach. He took in her little moan of frustration, too.

"Slowly," he whispered.

And then his fingers were inside of her and she spread her legs wider for him, and loved her there, slowly, very slowly, pushing gently until she was at the very edge once again. He withdrew.

"Sheldonnnn," she moaned.

"I want to do it together," he whispered.

Amy smiled softly at that and took him into her warmest of embraces, and he thought he might die of happiness there. He pulled back slightly, to make room for his hand, but she slid hers in instead.

"I'll do it," she whispered. "You just enjoy."

He remembered the first time Amy had done that, how alarmed he had been. Surely that was on the list of activities that were too personal to share, even with one's spouse? But, as startled as he was, he had to admit it was fascinating. And it rapidly became highly arousing. He couldn't explain it, it seemed counterintuitive; should he be offended, was it a critique of his skill? But, no, he quickly understood when she said the same thing to him she did that current morning: "You just enjoy." It was a gift from Amy.

So, Sheldon nodded softly in gratitude and started the easy and quiet pace again. "Very slowly," he whispered before kissing her.

She understood him, he knew, and he could feel her hand fluttering in the same unhurried manner he was enjoying, alternately kissing her and breathing into her hair. It was even better than he remembered, and he was lost in her - the feeling of her, the sounds she was making, the way she smelled, the looks crossing her face as she worked with him to bring herself pleasure. She pulled away from his lips to take her breaths, and he rested his forehead against hers, until he heard the first note of her cry. He let himself go, feeling her pulse around him as he released into her.

The sun had been up for a good forty-five minutes by now, if not longer. But at that exact moment, it broke over the horizon and a few tiny shafts darted around the blind.

Saturday morning, daybreak coitus. It was sublime.


	53. Hector and the Search for Happiness

**_Thank you in_ ** **_advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2018**

**Primary Topic: _Hector and The Search for Happiness_ by François LeLord**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Le Petit Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, ** **_Fifty Shades of Grey_ by E.L. James**

* * *

"… The end," Amy said softly, closing the book and setting it on the table next to her. She looked down at her daughter in her arms, so much bigger than she was even two months ago, let alone eight. Where had the time gone? How much longer could she hold her like this? If Amy blinked, she just knew Ada would be too big, that they'd be sitting together, side-by-side, reading in bed.

Sheldon and Amy had agreed, long ago, to take turns reading the goodnight story and putting Ada to bed, but Amy would have done it almost every night. Even though she wasn't crawling yet, Ada was becoming ever more active. She was always twisting and turning and rolling over on the floor with her toys, and holding her for any length of time had become an exercise in patience and wrinkled clothes. Amy couldn't help but think of the tightly coiled spring that was Sheldon, and she almost dreaded Ada becoming mobile. Not that it was all bad; in fact, Ada was a delightful, happy baby, constantly laughing, as though she was both amused and satisfied with herself. She probably was; she was a Cooper, after all. But, for a few brief moments of peace between bath and bed, time seemed to stop and Amy could enjoy holding her calm, sleepy daughter. Amy would have gladly sat there for hours, reading another story or even just rocking; but, no, bedtime protocol was something to which strict adherence was required. A couple of nights she had, in fact, coddled Ada (Sheldon's word), and Sheldon swore she was a terror the next day. Amy didn't entirely agree with him, but she didn't entirely disagree with him, either. Parenting was like that.

Besides, tonight was Book Club Night.

Amy stood and walked to the edge of the crib, kissing Ada on the top of her head. "Sweet dreams, my love."

Ada whimpered slightly when Amy lay her down, but Amy knew that would be the extent of her protest. She turned off the dim lamp and shut the door behind her on the way out. She walked down the hallway.

Sheldon was standing at his whiteboard, deep in thought, arms crossed, his lips pursed above a marker. He didn't turn when she entered the room, and Amy watched him for a moment, loving this pose of his. After so many changes in their lives, this was a constant. He sighed, uncapped the marker, hovered his hand over the board, before sighing again and recapping the marker, putting it down. He recrossed his arms, staring at his board some more.

"Are you stuck?" she asked.

"Maybe. I feel it on the edge of my brain, but I can't visualize it yet," he answered.

Amy went to stand next to him, reading the numbers and symbols, awed by their complexity. "Sorry, I won't be much help. This is above my head."

"I doubt that. It's an idea I had, but I can't get it to work."

She touched his arm. "Come on, leave it for a while. Let's have Book Club. If you stop watching for it, it may come out of hiding. Like a cat."

Sheldon looked over at her with the look that she knew meant he thought she was perhaps overly wordy, but that he agreed anyway. "Very well."

"I'll make some tea," Amy said, leaving him to busy herself in the kitchen. Sheldon came to join her at the end, dipping his tea bag up and down in his own mug, before they adjourned to the sofa. Sheldon had kindly retrieved her Kindle and sat it on the coffee table in front of them.

" _Hector and the Search for Happiness,_ " Amy said. Then she found herself smiling.

"What?" Sheldon asked.

"I was just wondering when Book Club became so formal. I said that like I needed a gavel."

"I don't think it's excessively ceremonious, if that's what you mean. A habitual custom? Yes, especially now that we're too busy earlier in the evening."

"Well, I guess habitual customs are sort of our thing," Amy replied.

"Yes, they make me . . . happy." Sheldon smiled.

Amy chuckled. "Well played, Dr. Cooper. So you've completed your search for happiness, then?"

He turned his beautiful blue eyes upon her. "Absolutely."

Amy blushed under his loving gaze. She wanted, for a moment, to throw their books away and cuddle with him. But she brought herself back. "I thought it was a strange choice for you, Sheldon."

"I picked it for you. There's a movie with Simon Pegg. You know, Beta Scottie. I saw it when I was looking for something on Netflix. I read the synopsis, and when it said it was like _Le Petit Prince_ , I thought you might like it."

Now she really wanted to throw their books away. And, well, why not? She sat her mug of tea down and wrapped her arms around him.

"Uh, Amy?"

"Let's cuddle. We can talk and cuddle at the same time."

Sheldon's arm paused for a second and then she felt him softly shrug. He put his own mug on the side table. "You're right."

And so they leaned back together, into the deep sofa. Amy spoke first. "It's very sweet that you picked a book for me, Sheldon, but you know you don't have to do that. If we each pick things we like, things that we are personally interested in, we'll both expand our horizons."

"I know. I wanted to read it, too, after I read the synopsis." Amy loved the way she could hear his voice reverberating in his chest, along with the gentle thumping of his heart.

"Did you like it as much as  _Le Petit Prince_?" she asked.

"You know what I thought was ironic?" was his reply.

"Ironic? Or coincidental?" Amy answered his question with another of her own, smirking into his shirt.

"Fine, Miss Smarty Pants, you decide." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "The back of the book compares this book to the  _Le Petit Prince_. And yet the very first lesson of happiness that Hector writes down is 'Making comparisons can spoil your happiness.'"

"I think that's coincidental. Did making the comparison spoil this book for you?"

"No, not spoil it. It was fine. But it certainly was not  _Le Petit Prince_."

"I have a feeling nothing will ever be  _Le Petit Prince_ for us. Maybe as it should be." She felt Sheldon nod. Neither of them spoke, both, she supposed, lost in their own bittersweet memories. She broke the lull. "I can understand why the comparison exists. It's the way it's told. Gently, somewhat fancifully. Some of the sentence structures are similar."

"Maybe. But it feels . . . both too serious and not serious enough."

"As compared to  _Le Petit Prince_? Certainly. This is a more straight-forward. There weren't any metaphors I can think of. It's definitely not an allegory that is whimsical on the surface and profoundly deep underneath." She sighed softly. "Let's take Hector's advise. Let's stop comparing it to  _Le Petit Prince_."

"Very well." Sheldon paused. "I thought it was just mediocre. I thought it was too simple, maybe too obvious."

"I think it was meant to be obvious, that it was done on purpose. Hector writes a list of things he learns, and the list is repeated several times. The author doesn't want there to be any doubt about what lessons the reader should learn." Amy paused. "Huh."

"What?"

"I was just thinking that this sort of black and whiteness might have appealed to you in the past."

Sheldon kissed the top of her head. "Yes, you were right all those years ago. Reading a work of fiction and discussing it with you would make me a smarter, better man. Are you pleased with yourself?"

"Inordinately so."

"I see all sorts of shades of grey now. Oh, that's what we should read next,  _Fifty Shades of Grey_!"

Amy burst out laughing, giant belly laughs that had her rolling into Sheldon's lap.

"What's so funny?" he asked from above.

"Do you even know what that book is about, Sheldon?" she asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Uh, a business man? There's a tie on the front of the copy Penny had on her bookshelf."

This brought another wave of laughter. "Never fear, Sheldon, sometimes you're still the same man."

"Well, are you going to tell me what it's about?"

"No." Even though Amy strongly suspected Sheldon already knew. Surely the guys had mentioned it. Was Sheldon actually getting good at lying?

"No?"

"What was the lesson in this book? The one about not knowing the whole story?" Amy rolled over, her head still in his lap, looking up at him.

"Lesson number five: 'Sometimes happiness is not knowing the whole story.'"

"I think that applies in this case."

"Hmmm. I'll have to trust you on this."

"Yes, please do." Amy did not wish to read or discuss  _Fifty Shades of Grey_  again, ever. She had read it several years ago, when it seemed as though everyone under the sun was reading it. Penny, Bernadette, and she had all read it at the same time, sending shocked text messages back and forth for a week. It was such a strange experience. She enjoyed reading it with the girls, the camaraderie, the jokes, even the emojis of bulging eyeballs next to a page number. But then, suddenly, about a half-hour after she finished it, she felt disgusted with herself. It was awful, so poorly written, such an unhealthy relationship, that annoying inner goddess! She had taken a random shower at three in the afternoon, but all the loofah in the world could not scrub such an awful example of English out of her mind. The only thing she still had to be grateful for was that all of this occurred before she lived with Sheldon, and thus she did not have to explain any of it to him.

Sheldon took a deep breath. "There was one thing I really didn't like about this book."

"What?"

"Lesson number 18. 'Happiness could be the freedom to love more than one woman at the same time.' How is that happiness?"

"Well, to be fair, he says 'could.' And, by the end of the book, he strikes it from his list. But, yes, I agree with you. It could never be a definition of happiness for us. Although, who are we to judge? It does work for some people, like when Raj and Stuart agree to take a break so they can date women-"

"Let's not talk about that again."

Amy smiled. "We're both old-fashioned, I guess."

"I like being old-fashioned. At least about monogamy. It also annoyed me that the author kept using the phrase 'do what people in love do' for sex. Even when Hector clearly wasn't in love with the woman, like when he'd just met her."

"It was a euphemism. Well, sort of. A PG way of saying a R rated idea. But, once again, you're right. I like being in this old-fashioned monogamous love affair with you."

"Do you?" Sheldon smiled down at her. "It's a bit more than a love affair, don't you think?"

"Mmmmm, sometimes, when it's surprising, it feels like a steamy love affair. That's a good thing, by the way. Was that lesson two? 'Happiness comes when least expected.'"

"Ah, yes, my Amy likes being surprised. Although you're better at giving me surprises in a steamy love affair sort of way than I am."

"Remember the first day we went back to work after Valentine's Day? And you slammed the door? That was a steamy love affair sort of surprise."

"Of course I remember. It was the fourth time we made love. I will admit to you my work was absolutely non-existent for two weeks that February." He tipped his head back, away from her, resting it on the back of the sofa. Lying on his lap, Amy could only see his chin and his Adam's apple. She wondered if he was lost in the memory.

"What I said earlier was wrong," Sheldon spoke at the ceiling.

"What part?"

He looked down at her again. "That I had completed my search for happiness with you. Wait! I said that wrong. Lesson number seven here is 'It's a mistake to think happiness is the goal.' So I am not at my goal. Maybe happiness is a journey. Ada has proved that, hasn't she? I thought I was as happy as I could be with just you. And I was. But then there was Ada, and she makes me even happier. So happiness doesn't have boundaries. It's like fish that grow to fit their pond, but the other way around. It's a pond that grows to fit the fish, always full but ever expandable."

Before Amy could reply, a sudden burst of light broke open on Sheldon's face. Amy started to scramble even before he shook her shoulder and said, "Hurry, get up."

He practically raced to his whiteboard, Book Club and love affairs forgotten for the sake of physics. He grabbed a marker and started scribbling. "That's it. Always full but ever expandable."

Amy sat on the sofa and watched her mad scientist. He was never more handsome than when he was caught in the frenzy of new idea. Even if she knew it meant she would go to bed alone while he worked, no steamy surprises in store.


	54. The Fourth Time

**The Fourth Time**

* * *

_"Remember the first day we went back to work after Valentine's Day? And you slammed the door? That was a steamy love affair sort of surprise."_

_"Of course I remember. It was the fourth time we made love. I will admit to you my work was absolutely non-existent for two weeks that February."_

* * *

He had been waiting, and a zing of excitement went through him when he heard the door open and saw Amy enter, her hands full of grocery bags. For the previous two days, he had been in a work fog, running through the motions of his life as his mind raced with his new idea and his hands strived to keep up. He knew that Amy understood, she had never seemed to mind these occasional bursts in the past; but this was the first work fog since Ada, and he realized, shuddering out of it, that perhaps he had left Amy with too much to do alone. So, all day, he was determined to be the best possible house husband and father he could, and the little smiled that played at Amy's lips when he insisted on taking the vacuum from her had been reward enough. No, that wasn't true. Thus the zing.

Sheldon sat down the duster and came to take one of the bags from her loaded arms, shutting the door behind her. He wanted to slam it, but . . .

"Where's Ada?" she said quietly. There was so rarely silence now.

"Sleeping." Instead of walking toward the kitchen he carefully set the bag down on the floor next to her.

"But her nap time should have been over, what?, five minutes ago," Amy said. "And what are you doing with the groceries? I bought ice cream as you requested."

"She looked so peaceful I decided to let her sleep." Sheldon took the other bag from her arm and set it down on the floor, also.

Amy's brow furrowed deeply. "What's going on?"

"I have something else in mind."

Before she could reply, he pushed her against the door, raising her arms above her head, holding them in place, and leaned down to kiss her. He deepened the kiss, pressing against her in a way he hoped told her that this was not just a kiss.

"Sheldon?" she asked when he finally tore himself away from her.

"I'm surprising you," he said, not letting go of her hands but using them to gently pull her with him as he walked backwards toward the hallway. "The fourth time."

He saw understanding in her eyes as their Book Night conversation came back to her. He was revisiting a memory and taking her with him. The fourth time they made love.

* * *

". . . And, so I think- " Amy dropped her keys in the bowl by the door but jumped as the Sheldon reached over her to slam the door behind them. "Sheldon? What's wrong?"

Instead of replying, he pushed her against the door, startling her. He leaned down to kiss her, and his ferocity almost frightened her. This was not the controlled kissing she knew. Surprise and confusion, though, were rapidly being replaced by pleasure, as one hand was already finding the buttons to her cardigan; then he used the hand still on her waist to pull her gently as he walked backwards toward the hallway.  _Wow, we're going to undress each other on the way to the bedroom. There'll be a trail of clothes, like in a movie. That's hot._

At last the cardigan fell. The walked some more, slowly. His tee shirts flew. They walked slowly. Her blouse, slow movement.  _Should we moving faster? Should I say something? Although we never talk during this._  Her thoughts were interrupted by Sheldon fumbling with her bra clasp. All that was necessary to foil a genius? A woman's bra. Amy smiled but only to herself, not wanting Sheldon to think she was laughing at him, before reaching around to assist.

* * *

Her bra was unhooked and gone. He saw the spark of surprise in her eyes; he had been so swift, she had not even realized he was touching the clasp. Even a woman's bra couldn't foil a genius forever. Amy laughed as he threw the bra over his shoulder.

"What's so funny?" Sheldon asked, interrupting their amble down the hallway.

"I was just remembering how many months it took you to master that."

"Mmmmmm," he kissed her again, "not true. I was trying to be sexy and strip you slowly."

"You're still a horrible liar. Now get naked."

Their march to the bedroom complete, they separated and each removed their own bottom halves of clothing. Because sometimes speed and ease were even better than sexy stripping. Then more kissing, more touching, more caressing. Amy grabbed his arousal and squeezed it, surprising him. He sucked in a mouthful of air.

"God, that's good," Sheldon said into her hair before she pushed him backwards onto their bed. Because there was never any doubt where this was happening.

* * *

_Um, okay, we're naked, and we're only two-thirds of the way to the bedroom. Now what?_  Then, almost timidly, Sheldon started to open his old bedroom door as he was still kissing her. _What is he doing? Where are we going?_  She felt the edge of the bed hit the back of her knees.  _Here?_  Amy was surprised again. She has thought that coitus would be always be their bedroom; it seemed a more natural place, because it was theirs and because there weren't action figures watching them. But as he let go of her long enough to pull the blankets down, she realized this was, in fact, happening right here.

* * *

Amy straddled Sheldon's stomach and leaned toward him, her large, full breasts near his face. He knew what she wanted, and he cupped one breast before running his tongue along the nipple. Then the other. Amy arched away from him and moaned in pleasure. How he loved her breasts! He was certain that whenever he died, he wanted it to be between them. She pulled away from him. "That's enough."

"But they're magnificent." He thought he heard a whimper in his voice. He would have been embarrassed, but, well, it was Amy.

"Yes, they are. But you know what happens if you play with them for too long these days."

Sheldon shook his head, not wanting them to dwell on that topic, because experience had taught him it was a mood killer. Amy scooted down, rubbing him with herself, sending a jolt through his pelvis.

"Yesss," they both hissed at the same time. Amy rubbed up and then down, gradually increasing her speed, tilting closer to Sheldon, closer to his body, his lips.

"Wait, shouldn't I be on top?" he said between heavy breaths.

Amy smiled and kissed him. "Too late," she murmured into his mouth. "I want you this way. I like the way it feels."

He surrendered to her desires. He loved it when she told him what she wanted, how she wanted him.

* * *

Sheldon was on top, of course. He was slowly, with agonizingly good precision, fondling and licking her small, pert breasts, in every way he had learned so far. Amy's body arched for him over and over again. She gave her mind over to the sensations. Everything, her mind and her body, wanted him so badly. Right now. But, also, at the same time, her mind and her body loved being in this suspended state, the anticipation building ever higher with each touch from Sheldon's tongue, never wanting it to end. She wanted to touch him and make him feel that way, too. Almost unconsciously, she had reached down to touch him, to touch his arousal pressing against her thigh.

Sheldon froze, his eyes locking onto hers. Then he reached down, too, and pulled her hand away. For a minute, nothing else happened. They were still looking at each other. She wondered how long it would be before Sheldon let her touch him there. And how long it would be before she worked up the courage to ask him about it. She suspected he was fearful of what might happen, that maybe he would be too excited and lose control. She wondered if there would never be a time that they would be comfortable enough with each other, even in these most intimate moments, to explain what they wanted, how they wanted it.

But then Sheldon ran his hand down her stomach, and it quivered in excitement. Anticipation, again. A question formed in his eyes and she nodded, as they always did. She gasped and shut her eyes as his first touch sent electricity through her. As she slipped into the most exquisite type of pleasure, she wondered if they would always be asking permission.

* * *

Amy didn't ask permission, she just raised up slightly, and used her hand to guide Sheldon into her. They both gasped. That never changed. She leaned closer to him again, to alternately kiss him or just rest her forehead again his, setting a pace with her hips. Sheldon was lost in the joy that was both feeling her around him and the rubbing on his pelvic bone.

"Sheldon," she whispered to him.

Understanding every sound that came from her lips, Sheldon's hand came between them. She shifted enough for him to find what she wanted, and moaned deeply when his fingertip made contact.

"Yes, yes," she whispered again.

* * *

Coming down from her climax, still grinding her teeth, even as her body was awash in bliss, she felt on the edge of her mind, as she had the other times Sheldon had brought her there, if perhaps her cry was too loud. She tried to keep her mouth shut, thus the clamping of her teeth, but it was so difficult in the moment. But the thought floated away from her, only a slightly gray cloud mixed with the white fluffy ones she seeing.

Sheldon kissed her, gently, on the cheek before looking at her again, his eyes dark and hungry. She smiled shyly and nodded, spreading her legs further for him, helping him find his way to her. They both gasped.

And they had slow, steady, quiet, coitus. It was, she would think later, the first time they had mastered the rhythm together, each body moving in time with the other, the first time her hips rose to meet his every thrust, the first time she had anticipated his every move. It was beautiful.

* * *

"God, woman!" Sheldon yelled as Amy came down from her climax.  _God, I love the sight and sound of that._

"Too loud?" Amy managed to heave out between pants, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

"Never," he replied, and kissed the top of her head. "I love it. I'm just glad we remembered to shut the door."

Amy opened her eyes and grinned with abandon before gripping the comforter on either side of Sheldon's head and pressing down deeply with her hips.

And they finished making love with speed and a lot of noise, until Sheldon yelled her name. It was a rhythm they knew as well as their heartbeats, each body moving in time with the other. His hips rose to meet her every movement. It was beautiful.

* * *

They had rolled on their sides, not to used to Sheldon's smaller bed, holding each other tightly, grasping the blankets as they turned so they remained covered. Each of the four times they had made love, they were always covered.

"I love you, Amy," Sheldon whispered through half-closed eyes.

"I love you, too, Sheldon," she replied, her own eyelids heavy.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"Not with you here. I could take a nap, just like this."

"Then let's take a nap," he replied, punctuating his words a small yawn. "We have nothing else to worry about."

And so they dozed for almost an hour, wrapped up in each other, not a care in the world.

* * *

Grateful yet again that they had chosen such a large bed, Sheldon watched Amy stretch out completely naked on top of the comforter. He moved to wrap his arms around her.

"I love you, Sheldon," she said.

"Mmmm, you too," he said into her neck, fighting the drowsy feeling. "Was it a nice surprise? Just like the fourth time?"

"Yes, it was a nice surprise. But it was nothing like the fourth time."

"You're right. But maybe we could -"

He was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds on the monitor of a baby waking up. Not crying yet, but audible pouting, as Amy called it. They both sighed. Sheldon mumbled as he rolled away from his wife, "I really wanted a nap and a shower."

"You'll get Ada and I'll unpack the groceries?" Amy asked, sitting up.

"Unless you'd rather get her," Sheldon sat up, too.

"No, go ahead. I have to make baby food. And make dinner. And chop vegetables for this week," Amy grabbed her underwear from the floor.

"And I still haven't finished dusting. Or start to clean the bathrooms. And the dryer went off in the middle of that." Sheldon looked around for his own underwear.

Amy threw them at him. "No rest for the weary."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	55. A Wrinkle in Time

**_Thank you in_ ** **_advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2018**

**Primary Topic: _A Wrinkle in Time_ by Madeleine L'Engle**

* * *

Sheldon shut the door to Ada's room and took a deep breath.  _One hysterical female dealt with, one more to go. If living with two females is always going to result in this much upheaval, I should move back in with Leonard. At least he's having a son._

He almost tip-toed to the living room, peeking around the corner of the hallway. He let out the breath he was holding. Amy was no longer hysterical. Instead, she was lying on the sofa, one arm curled under her head, staring in front of her. He crept over softly and sat down on the edge, putting his hand on her arm. "Are you okay now?"

"How's Ada?" she asked. Because, as he knew, the answer to his question depended almost entirely on the answer to her question.

"Calm now. I think she was just frightened. I put her to bed, I think she'll fall asleep early."

"She could have died," Amy said, still staring in front of her.

"No, she couldn't have."

"Yes, she could have. The whiteboard weighs as much as she does. If it had landed on her head . . ." Amy didn't finish her sentence.

"No. The white board weighs 16.5 pounds, and Ada was 20.3 pounds last week. More importantly, the trajectory of the board was-"

"Sheldon, now is not the time for physics," Amy interrupted him sharply.

This, of course, made absolutely no sense to him. Was there ever a time that was not a time for physics? But, having lived with Amy for almost four years now, he knew her tone was not one that invited disagreement.

"I'm a horrible mother. I almost let my child kill herself," Amy spoke again. "And what if it had been my harp?"

"Amy, don't ever say that. It is not true. You are a wonderful mother. We both know that I would never be a father if you weren't here to be the mother. And I'm not referring to biology." He paused and stroked her hair, hoping she would smile at that. He hated to admit his own faults so much that when he did Amy almost always tried to soften the pain for him. But tonight she didn't. He gave a resigned sigh, knowing full well what was needed; because if it wasn't the time for physics, then it must be the time for confessions. "It's my fault, Amy. We both know that, too. I'm the Safety Officer. I obviously failed in my duties, and I'm sorry for that."

Amy didn't speak but her eyes slid over to look at him. It was all the answer he needed. Yes, it was his fault and they both knew it. But now that he had admitted it and apologized, Amy would let it go.

She shrugged. "I guess we both didn't realize how quickly she could crawl and pull herself up. I should have known that."

"Neither one of us could have predicted we were raising the Hulk." He saw the edge of Amy's lip turn up slightly and relief flooded him. He continued, "Although maybe we should have predicted how drawn she would be to physics equations."

A slow smile spread across her face, although still a little sad, and he bent down to kiss her temple.  _Crisis averted! I'm getting really good at this husband thing!_ "Why don't you go take a bath? It may help you relax. You insisted on that big, fancy bathtub, but you've only used it once."

"We've been a little busy. Besides, I can't. It's Book Club Night."

"Go on. We'll have Book Club after. Or tomorrow night. You're the one always telling me I have to be more flexible." He stroked her hair a couple of more times, until she nodded. "Good," he said, moving off the sofa so she could get up.

As Amy left the room, he went over to the collapsed and broken white board, which had come perilously close to landing on their daughter's head a half hour prior. Picking up the scattered markers and the eraser, he wished that his guilt could be assayed by a bubble bath. It truly was his fault.

Three weeks ago, Ada had mastered crawling. There had been some belly crawling and a few uncoordinated attempts prior, but one night all her efforts crystalized and there was nothing to stop her anymore. Seeing a new determination in her face (which looked, he was thrilled to discover, very much like Amy's determined face), Sheldon had decided to revisit his role as Safety Officer. Even before Ada was born, he had put plugs in all the extra outlets, but he instigated a more hands-on approach one evening and crawled himself, every inch of their condominium, looking for anything in her reach that might potentially be dangerous. Amy had smiled at him, but her chuckles turned to a full laugh when Ada had started following him around on her own hands and knees. Grabbing her phone, Amy had filmed the two of them on their safety rounds, and, although he had yet to admit it to a soul, he loved going to his Facebook page to watch the video (because Amy had tagged him, of course, which he outwardly hated but secretly loved). It filled him with so much joy, having his progeny tailing after him, first Amy's laughter on the soundtrack, then Ada's high pitched baby-laugh, and then his own. The unexpected simplicity and delight of the three of them laughing like that had given him one of his greatest evenings as a father, and it outweighed all those trying and confusing times when there was crying or screaming for no discernible reason.

And, yet, somehow, it had never occurred to him that the white board would be of interest to her and that crawling to it would not be enough, she would want to reach for it. He sighed deeply as he erased his equation, before he folded it up the best he could in its damaged state and put it by the door to go to the trash tomorrow.

He looked over a the now empty corner of the living room. The white board had always been there, ever since they moved in. Amy had thought of everything when she picked their new home, and a permanent location for his white board had factored into her plans. Amy truly was a marvelous woman.

Amy. Book Club Night. Her favorite. Amy. He felt the raking against his senses he had for the past couple of days. Amy. There was something . . .

Sheldon double checked the door was locked before turning off the lights and walking to their bathroom. She was already in the bathtub, the jets not yet whirling as the water wasn't quite half-way up the sides yet. Her head was resting back, her eyes closed, and she looked, Sheldon was satisfied to see, calm and relaxed. He put one shoe on the back of the other to help pull them off.

"Sheldon? What are you doing?" Amy asked.

"What does it look like?" His voice was muffled by the tee shirts coming over his head. "Getting in the bathtub with you."

"But you hate baths. You don't understand why someone would lie in a cesspool of their own germs, the water temperature perfect for breeding even more bacteria."

"Don't remind me," he answered, dropping his pants. "Now make room."

Amy smiled, and he knew he had made the right decision. She turned the water down to a trickle as he stepped over the edge and lowered himself in to, he was forced to admit, the perfect water temperature for more than just breeding bacteria. It rose almost up to his chest, his knees sticking up out of the water, and Amy turned the water back on for another inch before stopping it altogether. Then she flipped the switch to activate the jets. Bubbles rapidly multiplied on the surface of the water and the whirring was louder than he had anticipated.

"Okay?" Amy asked, sitting across from him. He nodded. "If you lean back, one of the jets will hit right in the small of your back and it feels wonderful."

Not a little flummoxed to find himself in this situation, Sheldon leaned back into the odd sensation. _Hmm, Amy is right, this does feel good._  He relaxed his head back, further, like Amy had. They both lay there for a few minutes, Sheldon enjoying the calm, and he almost absentmindedly reached for one of her feet next to his side and started rubbing it.

"Mmmm," Amy murmured, "to what do I owe this unexpected privilege?"

"As you said, it's Book Club Night."

"I thought we were having Book Club tomorrow. I thought you were trying to be flexible."

"I think you know me better than that."

She smiled. "Well, you are in a bathtub."

"Indeed. There is only so much flexibility I can withstand at one time."

A few moments of peace passed before Sheldon spoke again. " _A Wrinkle in Time_? You picked it."

"Yes, I did," was Amy's only reply, the smile completely gone from her voice. He felt the raking against his brain again.

"Um, did you not like it?" Sheldon probed.  _Maybe I shouldn't have come in here, maybe she wants to be alone in the bath._

She shrugged, still resting her head back with her eyes closed. "It was fine. It's always weird to reread a book you read as a child, though. It's never the same."

Sheldon put Amy's foot down and picked up her other one. "Bad not the same or good not the same?"

"Just not the same."

"How old were you when you first read it? I was five," Sheldon said.

Amy lifted her head slightly and glanced at him before putting it back down. "I don't know. Eight? Nine? I did a book report on it in fourth grade. It doesn't matter."

"Do you not want to have Book Club now?" He almost asked if she wanted him to leave, but just as he was about to form the words he realized he actually was enjoying this unhygienic activity.  _Strange._

"Yes, let's have Book Club," Amy answered. Then she said in clipped tones, "It's about non-conformity, how the hive mentality is evil, how only true individuals will inherit the Earth, blah, blah, blah."

Sheldon perked up. With those words, the raking had become a stabbing sensation. He had had an odd feeling, for two or three days now, that something was bothering Amy. And he thought her hysterics over the white board incident seemed out of character for his practical and controlled wife. But now that she was being curt about Book Club, he was certain something was wrong.

"So, you . . . disagree?" he ventured.

She sat up straighter. "That's the problem, isn't it? It sounds good, it probably is good, but just try it sometime. Then someone will look at you like you're crazy or awful and guilt you into doing something that everyone should be doing."

_This evening is going from bad to worse._  "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about? I have come to the conclusion that becoming a mother in modern America is akin to becoming a member of the Borg collective."

Sheldon laughed at the unexpected  _Star Trek_ reference from Amy. "I love it when you use  _Star Trek_  citations correct-"

"I'm not being funny."

"Oh." Sheldon took a deep breath. "Did someone post on Facebook that organic, home-made baby food is wrong just after you diced the banana into pea-size bites again?"

"No."

He felt the threads of Amy's patience slipping. "If you don't want to talk about it, all I can say is that what applies to everyone else doesn't have to apply to us, mostly because we're smarter than everyone else. And since when do you care so much about what other people think?"

She sighed deeply and brought a hand up to rub her eyes. "I think Ada wants to wean. It's been hard to feed her for a few days. All of the indicators are present: she's very fussy and distracted and seems impatient when I try to breastfeed. She'd much rather turn away and try to watch whatever else is going on in the room. If I let her wean now, we'll be two months shy of her first birthday."

Sheldon almost made the comment that he could do simple arithmetic, but he managed to stop himself just in time. Then he wondered if it was really wise for him to wade into the deep end of the pool, as it were, if he could handle that. _Well, I am chest deep already._ "As I recall from our Don't Kill the Baby class, the recommendation is to breastfeed for one year. But it's just a recommendation. And, since we can only assume Ada is a  _homo novus_ , won't she reach these milestones sooner than the average, non-genius child?" Amy shot him a warning look. "Or not."

"Let's talk about the book," she said.

"Yes, let's . . ." Sheldon knew nothing had been resolved, but he also knew that he was not going to push Amy when she feeling so . . . angry? guilty? He wasn't even sure what she was feeling. "You never did say if you liked it."

"I actually liked it more now than I did as a child. As you always enjoying telling me, I knew nothing about science fiction until I met you. I didn't appreciate it. Now, I can appreciate it more." She gave him a soft smile. "Thank you."

Sheldon felt his shoulders relaxing, which made him realize they had been tense for a couple of minutes now. "You're welcome, little lady. But it wasn't very scientific was it? I mean, it was never explained how the tesseract works, for example."

"No, but that didn't bother me. All the best science fiction is about the big ideas, not the technical details."

"Speak for yourself," Sheldon protested.

"You cannot tell me that at some point while reading about IT you didn't think of the Borg? And didn't that connection, between two completely different forms of science fiction, for different audiences, created at different times, thrill you on some level?"

"Well . . . yes," Sheldon admitted. "And when she talked about the pulsing brain of IT, it made me think of the Horta in 'The Devil in the Dark' episode of  _Star Trek;_  it was even like Charles Wallace almost mind-melded with it." He paused. "I have to admit, Amy, I quite like this pseudo-comparative literature approach. Look at you, getting me to engage in the humanities in a bathtub!"

"And when they . . . what did they call it? . . . tesser, I think, didn't that remind you of apparition in Harry Potter?"

"Yes! The whole thing would have made an excellent  _Doctor Who_ , don't you think? Meg is the companion and Father is the doctor." He sighed. "But do you think that's disrespectful to the original book?"

"Not at all. It is often said there are only seven types of stories. This is clearly a voyage and return story. As are most episodes of  _Doctor Who_. And maybe all of  _Star Trek_."

They smiled at each other. Sheldon thought maybe the storm, the raking, whatever it was, everything had passed. Until Amy spoke again.

"'But I wanted to do it for you. It's what every parents wants,'" she quoted. And then she put her head back again.

"Page 200. But remember what comes next? 'You are going to allow Meg the privilege of accepting this. You are a wise man. You are going to let her go.'"

Amy shrugged. Finally, she whispered, "But what will Bernadette say?"

"Bernadette? What does she have to do with anything?" Sheldon asked, although he had the strong feeling he had reached the very heart of the matter.

"She breastfeed quite successfully for fourteen months."

"Only because Jacob is as obsessed by breasts as his father. Howard would probably still be breastfeeding if he could."

"And Penny is so blessed, she will probably sneeze and the baby will come shooting out, latching directly on to her breast."

"Do you have any idea how many laws of physics that would break?" Sheldon asked.

Amy responded only with the evil eye.

_Oh, right, now the time for physics._ Sheldon sighed. He ventured, softly, "But I thought you hated breastfeeding."

"What gave you that idea?"

"You complain about it all the time. How big your breasts are, that you think they are in the way, how it's uncomfortable when you need to do it and are delayed, how much you hate pumping . . . Am I wrong?"

"But it's a connection to my baby. Once this stops, it's just another step, isn't it? And then she won't be my baby anymore. And I won't be properly fulfilling my duties as a mother!"

"So I'm wrong, and you love it?"

"No, it's awful."

"So you hate it?"

"No, it's a bonding experience."

Sheldon shook is head. "To paraphrase the words of the Original Series episode 'The Changeling': Women are a mass of conflicting impulses."

"Sheldon, now is not the time for  _Star Trek_."

"If it's not the time for both physics and  _Star Trek_ , I don't know how you expect me to contribute to this conversation."

Amy looked at him for a moment before softly shaking her head and leaning it back against the edge of the bathtub, closing her eyes. Her face was an unreadable mask.  _What did that mean? Have I gone too far?_  Sheldon thought he was actually finally getting good at guessing Amy's emotions from her facial expressions, but if she took those away, what was he going to do?

Sheldon was at complete loss. A part of him stirred at the thought of some sort of competition. Clearly, if there was a competition about then either he or Amy should be the one to win it. And since he didn't have the necessary equipment for this competition, Amy would have to be the victor. However, a larger part of him just wanted her to be happy. He found Amy's female friendships baffling at times. When he saw them together, most often they were happy and laughing and enjoying each other's company. Sheldon knew Amy, friendless for so long, craved and treasured those friendships. But there were times he saw that they weren't just cackling like hens, they seemed to be peeking at each other instead. He knew Amy felt intimated, sometimes, by Penny and her supposed beauty (Sheldon never saw it, but everyone else did, so he was clearly missing something) and by Bernadette and her . . . Bernadetteness. Why did Amy let that happen? She was clearly the most intelligent and the most beautiful woman in the room, not to mention the best mother. That's what he wanted her to know. But how?

He sighed. _Dive in head first, that's how._  "If you're upset about the breastfeeding issue because you love to do it and you'll miss it, fine. If you're upset because you're genuinely worried about Ada's health, fine. But it is not fine if you are upset over some supposed competition with Bernadette and Penny over who is the better mother. You are a wonderful mother, the best mother our daughter could ever hope to have. Or if you're worried about what I think, you shouldn't be. I trust your judgement implicitly, seeing as I don't have breasts. And if you're upset that someone at the pediatrician's office will turn into a Nazi about it, you can take them. I've seen your right hook. That's it, there is nothing else to be said."

"That's the incorrect use of the term Nazi, and you know it," Amy said flatly.

Abashed, Sheldon looked down at the swirling water and didn't reply.  _Well, that didn't work out quite as I planned._

Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity. Then Amy raised her head back up and blinked slowly at him. "So, you're saying I should be calm and logical about the situation, not emotional. You're saying I should avoid perceiving petty jealousies, correct?"

"Um, yes." Her blank face was unnerving him.

"So I should approach the situation just as Spock would?"

"Yeesss . . . ."

"It seems, Sheldon, that you are right, after all. This is the time for  _Star Trek_." And then the edges of her mouth turned up in a small smile.

"It's always time for  _Star Trek_ ," he said after letting out a breath. "Better?"

"Yes. You're right," she agreed. "Motherhood should be like the discussion of the sonnet in this book. There is a pattern, obviously some very rigid thou-shalt-not rules, but within that form each poet should have complete freedom to do what she thinks is best."

"Exactly." Sheldon paused and looked over at her, her large breasts that she complained about looking so alluring peeking through the water occasionally. "Amy, I do trust you implicitly, not just about this. You know that. I always want you to feel loved and adored. Please don't bottle up your doubts."

"Thank you, Sheldon. I love and adore you, too," she answered.

He reached forward to turn the jets off and then stood in the bathtub, watering running off of his sleek body. "This is what is going to happen next: I am going to jump in the shower to wash off this bacteria. You are going to drain the tub and use that little hand-held sprayer to do the same. And then . . ." he leaned forward, braced his hands on the side of the tub, and bent down to whisper in her ear until he heard her gulp.

Then he stood, gave her a wink, and got out of the bathtub.


	56. Adoration

**Adoration**

* * *

_He reached forward to turn the jets off and then stood in the bathtub, watering running off of his sleek body. "This is what is going to happen next: I am going to jump in the shower to wash off this bacteria. You are going to drain the tub and use that little hand-held sprayer to do the same. And then . . ." he leaned forward, braced his hands on the side of the tub, and bent down to whisper in her ear until he heard her gulp._

_Then he stood, gave her a wink, and got out of the bathtub._

* * *

Her heart racing, she sat on the edge of the bed, her bathrobe knotted tightly around her waist. Amy didn't fully understand why she was so nervous. Part of it was excitement, yes, that part was perfectly understandable. How could she not be excited at what Sheldon had said to her? How did it go again?

"This is what is going to happen next: I am going to jump in the shower to wash this bacteria off. You are going to drain the tub and use that little hand-held sprayer to do the same. And then we're going to meet in the bedroom, and I'm going to give you cunnilingus so lengthy and artfully executed you won't be able to name the lobes of the brain."

Thinking of it made her heartbeat increase even further. It had been awhile. No, it had been too long. But she had let time pass without comment or even without asking for it. There were reasons, of course. One was that parenting took up far more time than she ever previously thought she possessed, so that when she and Sheldon did make love, it was much more likely to be the usual than anything special. She had no complaints with this, really; she loved the usual, and she recognized that it was more important that they were having sex on a regular basis. Also, she had always wondered if Sheldon had seen something he couldn't unsee when Ada was born. He had ended up much closer to the action than either of them had planned, and maybe his memory was scarred in some way.

Lost in the memory herself, she jumped when Sheldon walked into the bedroom, his hair still wet, his body still naked.

"You were deep in thought," he said as he sat down next to her.

"It was nothing." She smiled at him.

He reached for her, untying the knot on her robe, and she met his warm soft lips. She waited for him to make the move, and it wasn't long before he ran his tongue along her upper lip, asking for entrance. She let him in, but he didn't stay long.

"What wrong?" he asked, pulling back but his face still so close to hers, his hands still on her waist.

"You don't have to . . . do this . . . for me. It if bothers you or confuses you or . . . something," she shrugged.

Sheldon wrinkled his brow. "Do you not want it? You can just decline, you know that."

"No, I want it. It's just that . . . it's been so long . . . I thought maybe . . . you didn't want it."

He pulled her in for a hug, and she took a deep breath of his soapy smell. "Oh, Amy, the only thing that confuses me is why you would doubt that that I wouldn't want to love every single part of you in any way that makes you feel good and makes you understand just how much I adore you." He sighed. "I'm sorry it's been so long. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen."

"You don't have to . . . if you saw something . . . you know, when Ada was born," she whispered.

Sheldon pushed her away so that she could look at him. "I'm going to say something very hippy dippy, so listen closely. Do you know what I saw that day? I saw the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world perform a miracle. I saw the woman I love more than I ever thought was possible pass through agony to give me a gift that only doubled that love. Yes, at first I was frightened, but, afterwards, when you were smiling and crying and holding our baby . . ." He took a deep breath. "Well, I can't explain it. But I do know this: that woman is the woman I want to make to love to. In every way possible."

Amy smiled at him. "I love you so much."

He smiled back. "I love you, too." He gave her a gentle kiss. "So, shall I?"

"Oh, please do."

This time, she met his mouth with equal passion, one heated kiss melting into another, giving him all the air he would take. He lowered the robe down her shoulders and off of her arms, letting it fall around her on the bed. Then, he lowered her back and began the slow, wonderful procession down her body. Even when he dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, he took his time, tickling her lightly with his fingertips behind her knees, long, slow, sloppy kisses all the way up her inner thigh. And then he was there, and she gasped and arched away from him for a second before sought her again.

He was loving her slowly, softly, gently. Unlike previous times, when he used at least one hand to touch her elsewhere, he was concentrating all of his attention on that one small piece of her flesh, no where else, the one tiny part that had so much power over her. It built slowly until she was in a state of pendulous desire, the sensations skirting, grazing what she wanted most but never fully grasping it. It was a delicious agony, this suspended animation of pleasure; she both needed it to end and never wanted it to end. Sheldon was killing her softly. Barely able to breathe, barely able to withstand the onslaught of bliss, she managed to open her eyes and look down at him, to see if she could determine what he was doing, what he was thinking, how long he planned to torture her with this delicacy.

Amy met his eyes. He was staring at her. For some reason, she hadn't expected him to be watching her so closely. His eyes were dark and hungry. She brushed against it again, what she wanted, and her back arched. Then, at the same moment Sheldon started to increase his speed, he raised an eyebrow at her. It was the eyebrow even more than the speed she had so longingly desired that sent the hot rush of ecstasy through her. Her eyes shut again, tightly, her head fell back, and her cries almost sounded like weeping.

She came down from her high to seeing him getting up. He sat down on the bed next to her and reached over for the washcloth he had brought to wash his face. She smiled. Well, he was still Sheldon. When he lay down on his side next to her, she rolled over on her own side to face him. He started brushing her arm with his fingertips.

"I hope that was worth the wait," he said, softly.

"You have no idea." She grinned at him. "So . . . what next?"

Sheldon shrugged softly. "This is your night. We can continue to make love, or, if you're too tired -" He gasped as Amy wrapped her hand around him.

"Now, Sheldon," she started to move her hand in long strokes, "why do you think we wouldn't continue to make love?"

He groaned softly and pulled her in closer by her shoulders to kiss her deeply. All the while, Amy kept up her ministrations. Until he said, "Is that what you want?"

"What do you want?" she whispered back, giving a swipe across the tip just to hear him groan.

"No, it's your choice. Although, if you keep that up, you won't have one." He reached down to massage her posterior.

"Mmmm, I like that." But she let go of him, knowing that he was right. "I like this. Lying next to you, looking in your eyes. But I'd love you inside me, too."

Sheldon slid his hand down and gripped the back of her thigh, pulling her leg over his hip. "Well, let's do both."

Amy smiled. "No, that's not what I meant. I know this position is too much work for you."

"It's never too much work. And, between watching you earlier and what you were just doing, I don't think it will be work for very long. Here, help me."

She took him in her hand again, and shifted her legs some more, raising her self up, moving her arms some. They moved awkwardly in some sort of naughty Twister, and the thought made Amy giggle at the effort of it all. Sheldon gave her a sly grin back; but, when she succeeded in getting Sheldon where they wanted him, they both moaned in satisfaction.

"Sorry it's not very deep," he murmured into her hair, and she felt his body moving against her, working sideways to thrust into her.

"It's wonderful," she whispered back. And it was. It was almost like being teased again, every time he pulled back he brushed against her most sensitive spot again. She leaned in closer to him, pressing her breasts firmly against his shifting chest, resting her face in the crook of his neck, listening to him breathe. As much as she was enjoying it, she could hear the labor in his inhalations. "Tell me what you need."

"Just you." And, then, with one final thrust, he groaned and let go.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	57. The Notebook

**_Thank you in_ ** **_advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2019**

**Primary Topic: _The Notebook_  by Nicholas Sparks**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: the _Harry Potter_  series by J.K. Rowling, ** **_Somewhere in Time_  by Richard Matheson**

* * *

Amy allowed herself to ungraciously flop on the bed. Sheldon, who was sitting on his side reading a comic book, turned to look down at her.

"Difficulties getting Ada to bed?" he asked.

"No, surprisingly not. I thought she'd be hyper, but she fell asleep before I was half-way through the book. She must have been exhausted." Amy groaned softly. "As am I."

Sheldon sat the comic book on his bed side table and slid down next to her, leaving his lamp on for a soft glow. He stopped halfway to kiss her cheek. "Birthday parties are overly and unnecessarily exhausting. But you were marvelous."

It was sweet, but it was also, Amy knew, Sheldon's version of 'I told you so.' She smiled. "Did you hate it?"

"No. Given the mix of people and the crowded conditions, I thought it went as well as could be expected. But I still think it was unnecessary. And confusing. Her birthday is tomorrow."

"We've been over this. It worked out better for everyone to have the party on a Saturday. It doesn't matter, she won't remember it," Amy said without any heat. She was both too tired to argue, and, more importantly, too happy to do so.

"I remember my first birthday party. Missy insisted on being the center of attention," Sheldon protested.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

Amy sighed. "No, you most certainly do not. The hippocampus and amygdala are not fully developed until at least age three, and those parts of the brain are vital for memory storage. It is possible to retain a few vague, impression-like memories around age two, but nothing at age one. End of discussion."

"Fine."

She let him pout for a few moments before she said, "Tomorrow we're meeting your family for brunch before they have to be at the airport, right? Please tell me we'll have time to sleep in."

"You will, but I'm going to church with them."

"What?" Amy rolled over on her side to look at him.

"Mom is making me go. She somehow found out I didn't go for the Christmas service when you were pregnant. Remember?"

Amy laughed.

"Why is that funny?" Sheldon asked.

"Because you're a grown man with a child of your own, and you're still letting your mother insist you go to church once a year."

He shrugged. "It makes her happy."

She leaned in closer and kissed his cheek, before pulling his arm around her so that she could lay her head on his chest. "You're a good man, Sheldon Cooper."

"I'm a great man."

"Yes." Amy paused. "Do you want Ada and I to go with you?"

"No, you don't have to. It's not your bargain. You can just meet us at the restaurant afterwards. We'll drive separately. But if you want me to take Ada so you have some quiet to sleep in, I will."

"Mmmmmm, I'm tempted. It will give her somewhere to wear that frilly monstrosity my mother bought her." The mental image of Sheldon attempting to corral a squirming one-year old into both tights and a dress with multiple buttons and bows made Amy giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing. Leave her here. Just wake me up before you leave. I'll put her in the dress some other day and take her picture to send to my mother."

Sheldon squeezed her shoulder. "You're a good woman, Amy Farrah Fowler."

They lay in silence, and Amy's eyelids started to feel even heavier.

"It really was a great party, Amy. You outdid yourself," Sheldon said.

"Thank you, but I don't deserve all the credit. Raj was very helpful. But it was too crowded, you're right. I was surprised everyone came. How exciting can a first birthday party be for someone like Kripke?"

"I was surprised to see Nurse Patel with him," Sheldon said.

"Why? They're engaged." She paused. "And she keeps telling you to call her Sarah. Were you embarrassed she was here?"

"No, why would I be embarrassed?"

Amy shrugged. "Because you were seeing her outside of the clinic."

"Why would that be embarrassing? That's her profession. I'm sure if she ever has a physics need, she'll come see me."

"Or maybe Barry since she's going to marry him," Amy said.

Sheldon snorted. "Her loss."

Amy smiled. "Wasn't Penny just beautiful? I looked like a beached whale at thirty-six weeks. I can't wait for baby Fenny to get here."

"Are we really going to call him baby Fenny? His name will be Fenton. I'll grant you it's an absurd name, but I expected nothing less from Leonard and Penny. The only redeeming thing about it is that it was Harry Mudd's middle name in _Star Trek_."

"Okay, wasn't Fenton Charles Hofstedder's mother just beautiful? Although, does it make me a bad friend that I'm disappointed she's having a boy?"

"I don't know how to answer either of those questions," Sheldon said after a pause.

"I was just hoping that Penny would have a girl, and then she and Ada would grow up together and be besties, too." Amy yawned. "But Bernadette is pregnant again, so maybe she'll have a girl."

Sheldon rubbed her shoulder. "Ada will be fine. As she will no doubt have an IQ dozens of points above the offspring of our friends, she may find them too intellectually limiting regardless of their gender."

"Sheldon . . . " Amy sighed.

"What? You've always allowed me to be honest with you, when we're alone, even if you insist I can't say things like that in front of our friends."

"I do want you to be honest. But please don't even allude to that attitude in front of Ada. And leave them all be. They're just children." She rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sheldon whispered. "Perhaps you're right." He paused. "I also think you need a good night's sleep. There were too many people here, it was too crowded and noisy, you were too stressed."

"Well, we won't do it every year. And I doubt your entire family will fly in from Texas for it every year."

"Mom will, if we ask. And . . . your mother lives fairly close."

Amy let out a sound that resembled, "Mmmmrrrrr."

"Amy?"

"Hmmm?"

"I will admit this is not my area of expertise, but why do you hate the dress your mother gave Ada? You seemed to like the one Howard and Bernadette gave her."

She sighed heavily and rolled off of him, landing on her back, looking up at the ceiling.

"Did I say something wrong?" Sheldon turned toward her. "I shouldn't have brought it up since you're so tired."

"Was it that obvious when I opened it?" she asked, putting her hand over her face.

"No. I only saw it flash on your face for a second. You recovered well."

_I hope Sheldon is right._ She lowered her hand. "It's not the dress, really. I mean, it is some. Where is she supposed to wearing something that puffy and precious? It's so impractical. Bernadette's dress is lifestyle appropriate." She sighed again. "It's the idea of the dress."

"I don't understand."

"It's what she dressed me in when I was young. She forced me to wear puffy dresses long after I wanted to. Everybody else was wearing tight-rolled jeans and neon shirts and banana clips to school, but not Amy Farrah Fowler. 'A true lady always wears a dress,'" she finished in a mocking tone.

"But you don't wear jeans now. You still wear skirts and dresses. You only wear your sweatpants when you know we'll be home alone all day."

Amy closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I know. It was a compromise that became a uniform. She would give up the frilly dresses, but I could not wear pants."

"But you're an adult now."

Amy looked at Sheldon out of the corner of her eye. "Are you saying you want me to wear jeans?"

"No," Sheldon said. "Unless you want to. I, um, actually really like your cardigans." He blushed just enough that Amy smiled. "I was just asking."

"Why do you always wear graphic tee shirts?" Amy asked.

"That's easy. Because my mother - Oh, I see."

Sheldon rolled on his back again and reached for her, until Amy crawled back onto his chest. They lay for a short time in silence.

"Maybe we aren't such good children after all," Amy said.

"Speak for yourself. I'm a wonderful son." Sheldon paused. "But I don't think it matters to them anymore. Just to us." Another pause. "Do you want me to wear something else?"

"Not really. I met you in your tee shirts, I fell in love with you in your tee shirts, I've memorized them all. I wouldn't change you for the world. You do look especially handsome in a suit, but that's impractical and unnecessary for everyday wear."

"You look especially beautiful in your green dress."

Amy raised her head slightly. "Green dress? The one I wore to the conference earlier this year?"

Sheldon nodded. Amy put her head down. She hadn't thought about that dress since she wore it. She was breastfeeding then and could not find anything new to fit her giant breasts and her extra weight. Penny had suggested a wrap dress at the store, and, even though Amy had been apprehensive of something essentially held together by a single belt, she had to admit after she tried it on that it covered a multitude of sins. She had planned to wear it with a tan cardigan, to try and obscure some of her curves; but that morning, Sheldon had surprised her by wrapping his arms around her in their closet and whispering, "You look beautiful." The cardigan was left on the shelf. Amy remembered how she started her talk, suddenly self-conscious that people may be focusing on her form in that dress instead of what she had to say, her voice less sure than normal, her eyes searching the crowd. Then she heard the commotion from the far right side of the room, as a lanky man in a Captain America tee shirt made everyone in the second row move so he could reach the lone empty seat in the middle. She had allowed her eyes to rest on him and smile at him for the barest span of time. He smiled back. She slid her professional face back on, stood a little taller, and spoke a little louder to the crowd. In fact, as she recalled . . .

"If I was so beautiful in it, why were you so eager to get me out of it?" she smirked.

"Because you looked even more beautiful taking it off."

The smirk faded. "Do you think it's possible for a woman to be taken seriously for her intelligence and the advances she has made in science, and still be a woman?"

"Um, yes?" Sheldon sounded unsure of his answer.

"I mean can she be taken seriously if she displays her womanly goods as it were? Or if she were beautiful? Or would she always just be categorized as beautiful or curvaceous?" Amy sighed. "I worry sometimes about what type of example I should set for Ada. I want her to be proud of her mind but not ashamed of her body."

"I cannot speak for the entire scientific community, but I take your career and advances very seriously. Just as seriously as I take your curves. As for Ada, she has the best example to follow."

Amy smiled and squeezed Sheldon a bit. "I love you, Sheldon. Can you believe a whole year is gone, that we survived, that our beautiful baby isn't really much of a baby anymore? She's already saying several words, and she'll be walking soon."

Sheldon rubbed her shoulder. "I think we just didn't survive it, we excelled at it. But, no, I can't believe it. At the risk of sounding like an old person, where did the time go?"

"We are old people. And I don't know how that happened, either. But you're so lucky, you remember everything. There are moments with Ada, and with you, that I find myself thinking 'I must remember this. Try to remember this.' And sometimes I worry that my brain has crowded out the good memories with the memories of Ada crying or something like that." Amy shut her eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of Sheldon's heart beat. She had been right months ago and he was right tonight: he was an excellent father. Unconventional, certainly, and she did wonder if perhaps he was encouraging them to be too strict at times, but he had, indeed, excelled at it. Those were the memories she wanted to keep forever, those were the memories she was fearful of losing. But at least Sheldon would always be there to remind her of them.

She took a deep, contented, sleepy breath, happy to relax and fall asleep, when Sheldon suddenly said, "It's Book Club Night."

Amy groaned. "Can we do it tomorrow?"

"But you love Book Club! And, as for tomorrow . . . well, I guess." But she heard the itch in his voice. He may have changed and calmed down some over the years, but he was still the same man who woke her up at 11:54 p.m. one night to discuss a book so that he wouldn't "be late."

"No," she said. "Let's do it now. It was awful. Goodnight."

"That's not how this works. You have to say why you picked it."

A resigned smile played at the corners of her mouth.  _Well, it was worth a shot._ "Penny suggested it. It's her favorite book."

"Since when do you take literary advice from Penny?"

"I thought that if it was her favorite book, then maybe there was something to it. She likes Harry Potter, you know. And a lot of people love this book."

"But not you. Did you really hate it?"

Amy raised her head up to look at Sheldon's face. "Uhhh, yes. Why?"

Sheldon let out a breath. "Because I hated it, too. But I thought I was supposed to love it. But I didn't. But I think we were supposed to be moved by it; who wouldn't like this story? But I wasn't moved, I was annoyed. I couldn't understand what was happening."

Smiling, Amy put her head back down. "I think it's emotionally manipulative. Maybe you were feeling that. It's clearly written to be heart-breaking; it doesn't even try to hide that. I thought it came across as cloy and insincere because it was so blatantly obvious. It was overkill."

"Oh. Maybe. Yes, I think you're right." Sheldon swallowed. "What does that say about us? Are we callous, cynical people?"

"No, Sheldon, it means were are intelligent and perceptive. And independent thinkers." She paused. "I think it also means Book Club has had an effect on how we critically analyze a book. Remember when we read  _Somewhere in Time_?"

"Of course."

"How was this different?"

"Because . . . Huh. Because  _Somewhere in Time_  felt true. Which doesn't make any sense, because it was based on theoretical, illogical pseudo-science."

"Go on," Amy whispered, closing her eyes again, content to listen to his voice rumbling through his chest.

"I felt like in this book, we were being told how to feel, even though it was explained as how Noah felt. But he just kept saying the same things over and over again, like we were being systematically indoctrinated. In _Somewhere in Time_ , it felt more natural. There was always a wonder there; here it was assumed that it would be a certain way. I also thought this book was a novella that had been pulled into a novel. The whole day in the nursing home, every single second was explained ad nauseam." He paused. "Amy, since we're now old people, have you thought about what will happen to us? When we really are old? What if we don't live long enough to transfer our consciousnesses into machines and achieve immortality?"

"Uh-huh," Amy murmured.

"I think that if one of us started to get Alzheimer's or dementia, that would be the worst possible outcome. To be robbed of our brilliance! And, as you just pointed out, our memories. Do you remember that line from  _Doctor_   _Who_  that River says? I'm sure you do. 'The day is coming when I'll look into that man's eyes, my Doctor, and he won't have the faintest idea who I am. And I think it's going to kill me.' Two sentences, and it's so much more profound and heart-breaking than this entire book, don't you think? And River's notebook! So much better than this one."

"Mmmmmmmm," Amy breathed out.

"You're right, this is too depressing to talk about now," Sheldon said. "Today is a happy day. There's a River quote for that, too, isn't there? 'Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed.' Do you know what you said about memories, that I was lucky that I could keep them all? Sometimes, I also try very hard to control my memories. I also work to only keep the good ones, the ones in which you are happy. I believe that one day I will succeed. When you are happy, it makes me happy."

Amy didn't reply, so Sheldon lifted his head to look down at her on his chest. She was sound asleep. He smiled and put his head back. Sleeping with her, another blessed memory of happiness to keep.


	58. The Green Dress

 

**The Green Dress**

* * *

_"You look especially beautiful in your green dress."_

_Amy raised her head slightly. "Green dress? The one I wore to the conference earlier this year?"_

* * *

It happened suddenly, the downpour. Rain had been predicted, but downpours where not that common in L.A. Sheldon had no sooner strapped Ada into her carseat outside the restaurant and waved to Amy as they drove away then he was soaking wet. It hadn't helped that he had agreed to help drive his family and their mountains of luggage (as it seemed in the pouring rain) to the airport. Hadn't they driven around L.A. all week together in the rented minivan? Why did they need him now? Why hadn't he hid the fact he had his own car from them? Had their suitcases procreated in the hotel rooms?

So, cold and wet and annoyed, he had arrived home later than Amy. He was glad for her sake, that she hadn't had to deal with a squirmy one-year-old in the rain, and he knew they'd all be happier if Ada got a full nap. But he really wished Amy had been with him, to endure the hugs and the kisses and the head noogie while standing in the drop-off lane of LAX, which he was pretty sure was purgatory even without the storm.

The warmth and the dryness and the quietness of his home was all he wanted. But he was disappointed when he opened to the door that Amy wasn't there, waiting with a hot mug of tea. It had been his fantasy on the drive home. He took off his soaked jacket and draped it over the back of one of the dining chairs to dry. He glanced over at the chair in the corner of the office, the one Amy often sat in to read while Ada napped, but she wasn't there, lost in her book, as he had hoped.

He slipped off his wet shoes and padded down the hallway, peeking into Ada's room to confirm she was asleep, then he peered around the corner of the open door into his own bedroom. As he suspected, Amy was curled up on her side of the bed, the blankets pulled up tightly against her chin. He watched her for a moment before deciding he would join her.

Naps were not habit of his; Amy was much more likely to take a nap than him. He had too many other things he wanted to accomplish every day. But she looked so warm and quiet and peaceful. Taking off his pants, he debated whether he should get a set of pajamas out. What was the correct nap protocol? But, wanting to be as warm as possible, as soon as possible, he quickly took off his tie and dress shirt and lifted the covers to slide in next to Amy.

It was just as warm and as wonderful under the blankets as he imagined. He was pleased to discover that he had stumbled on the correct nap protocol, as Amy, too, was only wearing her underwear. He snuggled up close and wrapped an arm around her waist. _She is so warm!_

"Sheldon, you're freezing!" she yelped.

He snatched his arm away. "Sorry. I thought you were sleep."

"Not really. I was only dozing, listening for you to come in." She yawned and then reached back for his arm, pulling it around her again, rubbing it warm. "Why are you so cold?"

"It's still raining. And I had to stand outside in the rain at the airport while all the bags were unloaded and everyone insisted on good-bye rituals. You would think the rain would have prevented them. It was embarrassing."

Amy chuckled softly. "They love you and will miss you. Someday we'll be just as embarrassing with Ada, I'm sure."

"Speak for yourself." He nuzzled in closer. "Thank you for coming to brunch."

"Mmmm."

"You looked beautiful."

He heard her smile. "Were you surprised?"

"By you or by Ada?"

"Either."

"Both." He kissed her ear. He had been surprised when he arrived at the restaurant with his family. Not to see Amy - it was always the plan that she would join them - but to see her wearing that green dress he loved so much. And she had put Ada in the ruffled dress that she hated, and Sheldon was surprised at how adorable he thought it was.  _Could my mother-in-law actually be right about something?_ Of course, he had not voiced this opinion, although both his mother and sister emitted shrieks that pierced his eardrums. "Actually, the whole meal was pleasant surprise."

"Your family is more civilized than you give them credit for, Sheldon. It was lovely. Everyone was all dressed up and you got to have a birthday celebration for Ada on her actual birthday, just like you wanted."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Wait, did you order the cupcake? For me?"

"Mmmm."

"You're amazing," he said, kissing her ear again. He thought about Amy sitting next to him at the table, laughing, the green dress he loved hugging her every voluptuous curve, dipping down to a V in the front, showing off her beautiful creamy skin. That dress was such a tease. One knot, one cord wrapped around her. She was like a gift, an emerald package of delight; he wanted to untie it very slowly, or maybe just loosen it so that he could slip one hand in beneath the fabric while the other grabbed her posterior. Maybe he would be sitting up, and she would be on his lap, her legs wrapped around her. Maybe they would be joined together but not really moving yet. It would probably be very erotic, he thought: her eyes twinkling in the same shade as that dress, his tongue in her mouth, his hand slipped into her dress to toy with her breast, his body in hers . . .

Amy batted his hand away from her hip, where it had been making circles in time with his daydream. She said softly, "Go to sleep, Sheldon."

* * *

 

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	59. Year Four

**...**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Four**

* * *

They were on the oatmeal container that Valentine's morning, every bit of its label covered in yellow Post-It notes.

"I love you more than the rabbit loved the moon."  
"I love you more than Mark loved Earth."  
"I love you more than Gatsby loved Daisy."  
"I love you more than Hector loved Clara."  
"I love you more than Charles Wallace loved Meg."  
"I love you a thousand times more than those people in  _The Notebook_."

The last one made her chuckle. It also made her heart ache with love, that Sheldon knew her so well. But time was ticking by, and they were already behind schedule because she had stayed too long in bed, leaving most of Ada's morning dressing to Sheldon. Even her rushed shower hadn't made up enough time. Amy gently removed the notes before setting them aside to make breakfast. At the stove, her back to the great room, she heard them coming first.

"Dadadadadadada," went Ada's morning song.

Amy turned to say good morning and then raised her eyebrows. Instead of her upright normal carriage, Ada was tucked sideways under Sheldon's arm, her shoes in his other hand. Not that she seemed to mind.

"Sheldon?"

"I going to put her socks and shoes on in here. The high chair will contain her. Do you have any idea how hard it is too dress her lately?"

"Not a clue. Because I'm not her mother or anything."

If Sheldon got the sarcasm, he ignored it as he strapped Ada into the chair. "She won't stand still. She wants to walk along the edges of the room, touching everything, holding on to everything. Today she almost walked right out into the hallway!"

"Well, genius, shut the door."

Sheldon glanced over at her, just before he bent down to put on Ada's socks. "I don't understand why she just won't let go. She can obviously walk. She's just afraid to let go, even though she's using only holding on by a fingertip. Why is she so afraid of change? She doesn't need to be afraid. Everything will be fine if she'd just be brave and let go. It will be even better."

"Maybe she gets it from you . . . " Amy murmured, not unkindly.

This time Sheldon looked at her for a second before a smile spread across his face. "Wellllll, maybe. But now I'm an expert at adapting to change."

Amy smiled back before turning to stir the oatmeal and put it in bowls. "Will you get the blueberries out?" The two bigger bowels went on the island before Amy sat the small one in front of Ada. She shifted her chair so that she could feed Ada between her own bites.

"Mama," Ada said

"Yes, good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?" Amy asked, leaning down to kiss her head.

"Mama eat?"

Amy started. "Ada, what did you say? Can you say it again?"

Her daughter looked at her and then pointed down to her bowl. "Mama eat."

"Sheldon! Did you hear that? I'm positive Ada just expressed her first prevalent relationship using speech. That's almost six months ahead of the average shift in semantic development, even for females!"

Sheldon stood up straight, from where he was doing something with the blueberries at the island. "Why today of all days?" he moaned.

"What? I thought you'd be thrilled. You're always so worried about whether or not her cognitive development is ahead of schedule."

"I am thrilled. I'm thrilled for you that it happened to you. But," he tipped her bowl forward so she could see an almost completed heart made out of blueberries, "how can I compete with that?"

* * *

Returning from their anniversary dinner out, Ada was sound asleep by the time they parked the car, and, in the deep sleep known only by small children, she barely stirred as Sheldon unhooked her carseat and carried her to the elevator and up to their home.

"Do you think we should wake her for a bath?" he whispered when they shut the door behind them.

"No, let her sleep. She's probably exhausted. Bernadette said she chased Jacob around the house all evening," Amy replied, slipping Ada's jacket off her arms. "Besides, Bernadette put her sleeper on her already, anyway."

"Two children running after each other for hours? I'm sorry I missed it. And isn't it funny how she went immediately into running?" Sheldon asked.

"Well, she'd really been walking while barely holding on to something for a couple of weeks. As for the children running, you'll get to experience in Saturday evening. We're babysitting Jacob."

"What? Why?"

"Hush. I told you, we traded with the Wolowitz's so they chould go to Howard's cousin's wedding. It will be fine. Jacob can build Duplos with you, and Ada can't yet, and you like that," Amy warned, hanging up her jacket and Ada's.

"You're right," Sheldon sighed deeply. "I know it's my turn, but do you mind putting her to bed? I'll do it tomorrow."

Amy raised her eyebrows as this schedule deviation, but she nodded and took her sleeping daughter from Sheldon.

"My, what a big girl you're getting to be!" she murmured into the top of Ada's head as she took her down the hallway to her room. She decided that since Ada was already asleep, there was no reason to read a book, which was a bittersweet realization. But, tonight of all nights, she was pleased to have more time with Sheldon.

By the time she returned to the great room, Sheldon was sitting in his spot, a present sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and, with his dress shirt sleeves rolled up, he was at his most attractive.  _Maybe we should just skip the gifts and go to bed . . ._

She smiled at him and walked across the room to their partners desk, reaching into the knee hole on her side to remove a moderately large, flat gift.

"Who should go first?" she asked as she sat down next to him.

"Is your gift to me involved?" he asked in reply. "It's very big."

"Involved? I'm not sure what you mean by that, so I don't know," she said, furrowing her brow.

"I mean, is it put together already? Or will it take time after I open it?"

"That's a very strange question. Yes, it's put together already. Why?"

"Well . . . I suspect my gift may involve some time. So I was going to propose that you open it last, so there is time for you to . . . enjoy it, hopefully." He shrugged.

She smirked. "Is it another bowtie?"

"No." Sheldon gave her an embarrassed look.

"More's the pity," Amy whispered. "Okay, I agree to your terms. Happy anniversary!"

He took the gift from her hands, and she waited eagerly for him to open it. He lifted it out of the box. "Oh. It's a canvas. I presume it's meant to be hung on a wall as artwork."

"Yes, it's artwork. I gave Stuart the picture, and he painted it for us. I'm sorry, you don't like it, art is not your thing." Amy's heart sank, watching Sheldon just stare at the painting. Sheldon loved Halloween so much, and he had put so much effort into their costumes this year, eagerly adopting the concept of a family costume even though he had always seemed to barely tolerate her ideas for a couples costume. "We don't have to hang it. I just thought it would be fun in the hallway or somewhere just for us to enjoy."

"I love it," he whispered. He looked up at her, finally, and she could see in his eyes that he really did love it. "I love the background, the way he painted the bridge of the Enterprise behind us."

Amy smiled at him, and they looked down at the painting together: Sheldon dressed as Spock, she was dressed as Nurse Chapel, and Ada was dressed as a not-to-scale Tribble.

Gently, Sheldon sat the painting aside. He cleared his throat. "It seems great minds think alike. Somewhat."

He handed her a smaller but equally flat package. Even before it was fully open, she said, "It's a book." Taking the last of the paper off, she looked down at the cover. It was pure white, and all it said on the front was  _Year Four._

"Year Four?" She looked up at Sheldon in confusion.

"It's our fourth anniversary," he said, stating the obvious. "Open it, you'll understand."

Carefully turning the first page, Amy was met with a single photograph in the middle of a shiny white page. "Oh," it was her turn to say it. She didn't know which was more touching, the photograph itself or that Sheldon had it printed, given that he didn't want it taken.

"Did I make a mistake starting there? Oh, I knew I'd make the wrong decision! I debated for so long about what date I should pick as the starting point. It's just that so much has happened to us in February, but it seemed that if this was for our anniversary, then February twentieth was the logical starting point and -"

"Oh, Sheldon, I love it!" She threw herself at him, catching the surprised look on his face just before she sank her face into the crook of his neck. "It's perfect."

His palm rubbed her back. "You haven't even looked at the rest of it yet." A pause. "Here," he said, pulling away from her and relaxing back into his spot, "let's look at it together."

Amy nodded and turned to lean back into the crook of his arm. She looked down at the first page again. She loved that photo. Mary Cooper had insisted on taking it despite Sheldon's protests, and Amy had always been grateful to her. It was the morning of their anniversary a year prior, both of them sitting on the sofa, Sheldon holding Ada who really just looked like a blanket wrapped package, Amy leaning against him, holding the supermarket bouquet of sunflowers. They were smiling, even Sheldon.

"Our first family photo," she sighed. She corrected herself. "The first only you'll allow to be shown, that is."

She flipped the pages, commenting on them all, one photo on every page. "I think that was the same night, when you fell asleep rocking her." "Look how small she is here." There were a lot of photos that first month, mostly taken by Amy's mother-in-law. Not only because she was the least sleep challenged, but because Sheldon had long ago learned not to fight her too much. Sheldon with Ada sleeping in her carrier against his chest while he worked at his white board, Amy holding her and reading to her, and a photo of both of them looking tense. Sheldon had a wet baby clutched to his chest and Amy was in front of him with a towel.

Amy laughed. "Her first bath after her belly button fell off. Remember how many ways we tried to get that towel around her? You were so afraid to loosen your grip on her!"

"She was so small and slippery! I was terrified of dropping her!" Sheldon protested.

"Yes, it was scary, wasn't it? My heart was pounding." Amy leaned in a little closer. "Aww, but look at the tiny baby bottom!"

Sheldon squeezed her shoulder as she turned another page. There a photo without Ada, just Sheldon and Amy looking at each other and smiling.

"Where did this one come from?" she asked.

"It was the first time we had everyone over after she was born. Remember, Raj was taking all those pictures of Ada and everyone holding her? He took this one of us," Sheldon explained. He lowered his voice. "I sent out an email, asking anyone who had pictures of us to donate them."

"But Ada's not in it."

"Oh." Sheldon shifted slightly and she turned her head so she could look him. "Is that a mistake? I thought this book should be about us, that one of us should be in every picture. I thought we could make another one about Ada together. There are lots of pictures of just her." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at sentimental. I guess I thought that since it's for our anniversary it should be a celebration of our love for each other. We'll make a new one with all the pictures and get rid of this one."

"No!" Amy dropped her end of the book and put her hand on Sheldon's chest. "You're right. I love it. I love that you let your picture be taken so much this year. I love that you asked our fiends for pictures. I love that you made this for me. It's perfect."

"Really? You're not just saying that?" Sheldon asked.

Amy gently shut the book and leaned in closer to him. "When have I ever said something untrue to you to make you feel better? Never. I'm always painfully blunt, and you love it."

He leaned over and kissed her softly. "Maybe."

Amy sank into his warm, soft lips. And then she encouraged him to kiss her deeper.

But Sheldon pulled away. "We need to look at the rest of the book."

"How about we put it by the bed and look at it during intermission?"

"Intermission?" Sheldon raised his eyebrows.

"Yes." Amy stood, holding the book in one hand, while she put her other out for Sheldon. He took it and followed.

Before intermission, he brushed her skin and whispered, "You are more beautiful than the universe naked."

At intermission, they reminisced and giggled and got a little teary eyed over the book and even dozed a bit.

After intermission, she brushed his skin and whispered, "You are handsome and lanky and brilliant."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	60. Irene Iddesleigh

**_Thank you (I think) to AnotherBritFan for this book suggestion . . . Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2019**

**Primary Topic: _Irene Iddesleigh_ by Amanda McKittrick Ros**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The Notebook_  by Nicholas Sparks,  _Ars Poetice_  by Horace**

* * *

He heard her coming as he stood at his new whiteboards. Of course he did. He rolled his shoulders. _Why does she insist on wearing such chunky shoes and walking so loudly in them? Doesn't she know some of us need quiet to win the Nobel Prize?_

"Sheldon."

_Why does she say my name so much? I'm the only other person in this room. "_ Amy."

"It's Book Club Night." He heard her drop on to the sofa.  _Why does she flop down like a sack of potatoes sometimes? It's undignified._

"I am fully aware of the date."

"Well?"

Sheldon sighed and capped his marker. No Nobel Prize tonight. "Coming."

Moving to the sofa, he saw it, even behind the bridge of her glasses: the line that travelled from there to up between her eyebrows. He swallowed. "Was Ada difficult?"

"A little. She has apparently developed the ability to whine, even with her limited vocabulary. As she comes by it honestly, I don't know why I am surprised."

Sheldon rolled his shoulders once more at her implication. "Perhaps she does not like her entire day being off schedule."

"By off schedule, I presume you mean by a margin of four minutes?" The line deepened on Amy's face.

"Four minutes off schedule is still off schedule."

"If you are referencing the wait time in the drive-though line at Starbucks this morning, you could have gotten out of the car and walked the rest of the way to work. Or drove separately."

"You, of all people, are suggesting that we utilize more fossil fuels and increase our carbon footprint when we are traveling to the exact same location?" He snorted. "Although, sitting in a drive-through line for four minutes waiting on a chai tea latte is not the most responsible use of fossil fuels, either."

"That had nothing to do with sorting the recycling and you know it," Amy shot back.

"Who said anything about sorting the recycling?"

"You did without your 'you of all people' comment. Recycling is a very important task, so, yes, I take it very seriously."

She stared at him, daring him. He stared right back. Finally, Amy's gaze broke away.  _See, I will always beat you at a staring contest._

"Book Club?" she asked tersely.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Go on, Sheldon -"  _Again with my name!_ "- tell me why you picked it."

"I picked it because we read  _The Notebook_  last time and we hated it, even though there are apparently a great deal of less intelligent people who love it. It made me think about what makes a book a good or bad book, whether the collective voice of readers is generally correct or generally incorrect. I thought we needed a control book to compare it to, so I went searching for what is generally considered among the worst books ever written. My search quickly led me to Ros. Her books were considered so bad that J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis' literary group at Oxford, the Inklings, used to hold competitions to see who could read Ros' work aloud for the longest length of time without laughing."

"So, you purposely picked a book that you knew was considered one of the worst novels ever written to serve as a control as you experimented on Book Club?" Amy asked flatly.

"Exactly."

"I see." Amy leaned forward, resting her elbow on her lap, supporting her face with her hand, her index finger running up to almost meet the temple of her glasses. It was an uncharacteristic pose, stiff and unpracticed.  _I don't like it._

Sheldon waited for her to say more, to expound on her own views of the book, to ask him leading questions, to talk about a favorite or otherwise noteworthy passage that she had marked; but she stayed eerily silent, regarding him with a blank face as she intermittently blinked slowly. What did it all mean? Why was Amy refusing to participate in the Book Club? She loved Book Club. He felt his shoulders roll again. Why was she being so difficult? Was it because he had not included her in the early phases of his experiment? Didn't she understand this sort of subjective analysis worked best as a blind study? She was a biologist, she had done multiple blind studies in her career, of course she knew that.

"Well, how much were you able to read before you gave up?" Sheldon asked.

"I finished it."

"Oh."

He exhaled loudly. Well, that rather ruined his data, didn't it? If both he and Amy finished the book, although he had to admit it took all of his strength and willpower to do so, there was no way to gage at exactly which point it became so bad that it was impossible for one to continue.

"Why do you think it's called purple prose?" he asked.

"It's from a reference to the poem  _Ars Poetice_ by Roman poet Horace. He talked about unnecessary purple patches in paintings. You could have looked it up."

"I know I could have looked it up. I am trying to engage you in intelligent dialogue about the book."

"Oh, I thought this was an experiment, not a dialogue, not Book Club." Her tones were clipped.

The dryer buzzed and Amy got up. Sheldon's shoulders relaxed slightly in her almost-absence. After a couple of minutes, she returned, her arms loaded with a very full laundry basket. She sat it on the floor in front of her and bent down to pick up an article out of it.

"You're going to fold laundry now? Here?" Sheldon asked.

"Yes. Why not? My hands are free." She sat the folded washcloth on the coffee table.

"But it's not where we usually do it."

"This may come a shock to you, but I don't feel that laundry has to be folded in the exact same location at the exact same time every time." A hand towel went down next to the washcloth. Sheldon looked at it and frowned.

There was a very clear, and very correct, way to fold a hand towel. First, one should fold it in half, width wise. Then, one should fold it into thirds. That way, when it was stacked, the portion facing up was symmetrical, folded under on both sides. And the trim was lined up. It did not take a genius to recognize this. Sheldon reached into the basket himself, took out another hand towel, and folded it correctly.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked.

"Helping you fold laundry."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're arguing with me about the correct way to fold a hand towel."

"I didn't say anything."

Amy continued as though she hadn't heard him. Or as though he had actually agreed with her, he wasn't sure. "I've told you a million times that when you fold the hand towels that way, they don't fit into the closet as well. The way I fold them has a smaller footprint."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Leaving her to fold the towels incorrectly, he got up and went to the kitchen, opening the pantry door.

"What are you doing?" he heard Amy yell after him.

"Getting a snack. Do we have any mixed nuts?" he replied.  _Why does Amy need to know what I'm doing every second of the day? Isn't this my house, too?_

"I don't know. Did you put them on the grocery list as instructed when we are running low on an item you desire?" she replied.

He rolled his eyes. She may not have an eidetic memory, but he was certain Amy knew whether or not there were nuts in the pantry.  _Why does she feel she has to always be making a point_? "They're not by the beans."

"Why would they be with the beans?"

"Because peanuts are legumes," Sheldon said, sighing loudly at the obviousness of it all.

"But mixed nuts contain tree nuts, which are not legumes. Ergo, mixed nuts should not be placed with the legumes."

"Well, we don't have an eucalyptus or spruce tree in here either, so I fail to see your point."

"As mixed nuts contain tree nuts, they're next to other tree-related snack foods. Look for the dried apricots."

Finding the can he was looking for right where she said it would be, grudgingly admitting only to himself that her system made perfect sense, he returned to the sofa.  _Can't she be wrong, just once?_  He opened the lid, removed the protective seal, and sat the can next to the pile of folded washcloths. He waited.

And waited. He sifted slightly in his spot. Amy continued to fold laundry. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Sheldon?" Amy asked.

"There's mixed nuts."

"I have the full 160 degree horizontal visual field of a human being. I see them."

He waited some more. He rubbed his palms together. "Don't you want some?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

Sheldon slammed the lid back on the can.  _I can't stand the sight of those Brazil nuts, and she knows it!_ He sank back into his spot with another shoulder roll. He didn't like this one bit, the feeling of unfinished business hanging in the air, making his brain itch. It was Book Club Night, for crying out loud!

He wondered if Book Club had been lost, if he had inadvertently tossed it aside. No matter how annoying Amy was being tonight - and she really had been getting on his last nerve all day - he knew he would experience true wrath from her if he actually caused a collapse in Book Club.

He sighed, deciding to try again. Then she wouldn't be angry, and his brain would stop itching. "I truly did pick this book because I was curious, Amy. I thought it was a thought exercise we could perform together. I should have informed you."

Amy stopped folding the bath towel she held, and lowered her arms, the towel pooling in her lap. She looked at him, a more amiable look in her eyes. "I know."

"Sooooo, should we talk about it more?" Sheldon asked tentatively, hoping to soften her further but also afraid to say too much.

She shrugged and turned away, folding again. "I don't know what else there is to say. It was awful. We agree."

"We could think of things that are even worse than this book," Sheldon suggested. "Like Greek food."

"Being called 'The Shamy,'" Amy volunteered.

"That's the spirit!" Sheldon cheered. Amy did not.

"When Raj tries to tell us something personal about his sex life with Stuart?" Sheldon ventured.

Amy sighed and gave him a dirty look. Sheldon shot her one back. "What? I've always said I don't care what other people do with their genitals as long as they don't tell me about."

After a ragged sigh, she said, "When you, of all people, deviate from the week's clothing plan I have set out for Ada."

"Only because I have a better fashion sense than you. Sometimes it's better to contrast colors than to slavishly coordinate them. Superheroes do it all the time."

"Our daughter is not a superhero," Amy said.

"Not yet."

Another sidewise glance from Amy. "How loudly you turn the pages when you read a magazine in bed."

"Hmmmph," Sheldon snorted. "When you tear all those paper cards out of your magazines and leave them in a pile in the middle of the bed." He couldn't stand that: the ripping sound, the ragged edges, the haphazard pile just lying on the comforter between them, taunting him with their crookedness.

"When you refuse to help me take the trash or the recycling downstairs."

"Do you really think Agent Carter ever whined to Captain America for his help taking out the trash?" Sheldon asked.

"When you asked me that the last time I brought it up." Amy snapped a towel loudly before folding it. "Gender equality does not mean the end to chivalry. Or the biological fact that you have superior upper body strength. As did Captain America."

Sheldon smarted. No, he should not have said that again. He prided himself on the chivalrous way he treated his little lady. But it just slipped out before he thought. She was having that effect on him tonight for some reason. Even in the midst of his frustration with her, he knew better than to reply. To reply would only invite her to use the word misogynist, and the last time that word had come up in Book Club it had gotten very ugly, very quickly.

"Nobody defeated the Nazis by taking out the trash," Sheldon protested, softly, instead, picking up a towel from the basket.

"I'm pretty sure defeating the Nazis was taking out the trash."

Sheldon looked for her little smirk, the little glint in her eyes to tell him she was being sarcastic.  _Then we can have a good laugh and this horrible day will be over._  But there was no smirk and no glint. He rolled his shoulders once more. He could not understand why Amy was being so infuriating tonight. Yes, there had been that little spat about the chai tea latte and resulting interruption of their schedule this morning, but every single thing she had done all day had needled at him. Not enough to truly provoke him into an argument, but enough to set his teeth on edge. Not that he even would have understood what they had to fight about.

He threw down his towel, the half-fold he had started coming undone. "I'm going to work on the computer. I'll leave you to the laundry?"

"Why not? Captain America probably never folded laundry either."

"Fine." Sheldon stood, feeling like he had been slapped.

"Fine." Amy didn't look up.


	61. Chai Tea Latte

**Chai Tea Latte**

* * *

_"By off schedule, I presume you mean by a margin of four minutes?" The line deepened on Amy's face._

_"Four minutes off schedule is still off schedule."_

_"If you are referencing the wait time in the drive-though line at Starbucks this morning, you could have gotten out of the car and walked the rest of the way to work. Or drove separately."_

* * *

_Damn chai tea latte!_

It was the strangest thing Amy had ever thought immediately post-coital. Sheldon had no sooner collapsed against her back, his chest damp and heaving, his hands relaxing their grip on her shoulders, his breath still panting in her ear, then she thought it.

Well, it was the truth. Without that spat about the latte this morning, none of this would have happened. It should have been inconsequential, a tiny thing soon forgiven and forgotten. But somehow it was like a paper cut, it smarted and festered all day, the pain out of proportion with the size of the injury. And then, this evening, she couldn't help but pick at it, poking and prodding when she knew she should be leaving it alone. How was it that every single thing he did this evening had grated against her? Every single thing that she could barely stand about him rose to the surface, a thousand tiny things that weren't important and that she had long since found the peace to ignore for the sake of the greater good and because she loved him so much. By now, she knew well that marrying someone was not just choosing the person to love for the rest of your life; it was also choosing the person that was going to drive you crazy for the rest of your life. But, hell!, he was so frustrating at times!

She didn't know which was worse: that she had picked, or that Sheldon had picked right back, or that they ended up here, like this. Doing the thing she swore they would never do. Or maybe the worst was there was a moment there, when he had almost-apologized for his Book Club selection. Because it wasn't really about the chai tea latte, was it? It was about his experiment on one of her favorite things. She could have accepted his timid regret, explained why she was upset and procured a promise that it wouldn't be repeated, and let the little wound heal. But she had not. That was the worst.

Sheldon rolled off of her onto his back and stared up the ceiling, never meeting her eyes. She could already see the welt raising on his shoulder. Amy relaxed and stretched her legs out behind her and reached up to rub her eyes, remembering exactly how they had ended up here.

They had changed for bed in stormy silence, and each had kept to their own side. Finally, Amy felt herself getting sleepy, and her feet, guided by instinct and custom, had sought the warmth of Sheldon's legs.

"Must you always put your frigid feet on me? It's like you have no circulation to your extremities."

The tension immediately returned. She rolled over quickly. "I wouldn't get cold if you didn't steal all the blankets."

Sheldon rolled over to face her with equal bitterness. "We just got into bed. The stripes on the comforter are still obviously vertical. No one has stole anything."

"Well, maybe you should go sleep on the couch so my feet won't touch you."

He sat up and looked down at her. "Maybe I will. And leave you and your precious blankets alone."

"Fine. Go." She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch him leave.

"Woman!" And then his mouth was on hers, hard, pushing her back down. She didn't even remember being surprised. She remembered meeting it with equal force, one passion rapidly traded for another. Things happened quickly after that; the only pause came when she bit his shoulder.

"Amy!" he yelped. "That was not a love bite!"

"It wasn't meant to be," she replied, defiantly meeting his gaze.

And when he slapped her bottom it wasn't the playful smacks she loved; it was so painful it made her hiss. Somehow it only made her want it more. They hadn't even discussed it, it evolved naturally, this rarely used position. Sheldon had first introduced it when he was impatient and annoyed after a long flight. Thus it was always used to squeeze the frustration out, but never like this. The few times it had happened this way previously it was still a gift, one of them giving it to the other to help soothe the tension. But tonight had been different. They were both frustrated, maybe even angry, and all the "harders" and the "fasters" and even the hot burst of pleasure flowing from her core could not make it right.

Amy lay there for a long time, on her stomach, watching Sheldon watch the ceiling, listening to their breath slow and quiet, trying to ignore the sting from her rear. She was ashamed and disturbed that they found themselves here. They had just used this thing, this thing that was a always a beautiful celebration of their love, as a punishment. She waited to see what would happen next, until she knew nothing would happen unless one of them made a move.

She rolled on her side and was relieved that Sheldon immediately did the same. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Sheldon -" "Amy -"

She couldn't help but smile slightly and was even more relieved that Sheldon simultaneously did the same. She spoke again. "I'm sorry. That was . . ." She didn't even know how to verbalize it.

"I know. I'm sorry, too." He reached up to brush his fingers through her hair but caught a snag. "It's tangled. I must have . . . Do you want me to brush it?"

"No." Amy shook her head. "It's always tangled in the morning, anyway. I'll brush it then." There was another pause in which they just looked at each other. "How's your shoulder?"

"It will be fine. And your . . . bottom?"

"It's fine, too."

Sheldon nodded and silence fell again.

"We shouldn't do that," he finally said.

"Never. Not because we're angry or even frustrated with each other. I think . . . it's fine when one of us is frustrated with the world, with something outside this room."

"If you think it's just fine, we shouldn't do it for that, either."

Amy whispered, "Do you think it's just fine?"

"Do you?" he whispered back.

"Um," she felt her cheeks flush, "I think, in that situation, it's more than fine. Much more. It can be very . . . cathartic."

"Yes, I agree." He leaned in closer and kissed her forehead very gently.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon. I behaved appallingly all day. I don't know what got into me."

He shrugged. "You had a bad day. I'm sorry, I wasn't on my best behavior, either. And I experimented on Book Club without your knowledge. I should have never done that."

She nodded her acceptance of his apology.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered again.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind rolling over on your stomach?"

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why?"

Sheldon licked his lips. "Well, one of the best parts about that particular . . . catharsis . . . is kissing between your shoulder blades. Which, since we went about this all wrong, I neglected to do."

Intrigued and baffled by this particular need for completion, Amy complied. Sheldon leaned over her, and, true to his word, tenderly laid a dry kiss between her shoulder blades. And then another one right next to it, a slow trail leading out, then following the ridge of her scapula. It was tactical, but it wasn't erotic. It was compassionate and chaste, nothing like the animalistic roughness in which they had just partaken. It was an unspoken expression of regret, and Amy felt herself relaxing beneath it, all her frustrations melting away.

Then Sheldon rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and murmured, "Oh, Amy. I love your feet. I can't fall sleep without them touching me."

With that, all was forgiven, all was forgotten.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	62. First Impressions

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2019**

**Primary Topic: _First Impressions_ by Charlie Lovett**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: the _Mary Russell_  series by Laurie R. King**

* * *

Since returning from maternity leave, a little over a year prior, Amy had endured the presence of undergraduate lab assistants. Perhaps endured was too strong of a word, but nothing made her feel older than hearing two 19- or 20-year olds chatting near her. Was she ever that vapid? She had decided to open these positions in her lab for two reasons. The first was purely selfish: they could, in fact, be helpful with the time-consuming menial tasks she did not wish to perform, and, by passing these off, she was more likely to return home in a timely fashion. The second was altruistic: since Ada was born, Amy thought about her role as an independent, intelligent woman of science and decided it was part of her duty to other women scientists to help them on their paths. Just as she would want for her own daughter, wherever her passion and talents would take her in the future.

Amy glanced at the clock. It was a little early for lunch, only 11:45, but she had reached a good stopping point. And she did not know if she could live through another second of the discussion about some unknown pop star.

"How about we break for lunch early?" she asked the two young woman on the other side of the room.

They both looked at the clock before answering her. Hannah said, "And be back at 12:45 instead of 1:00?"

"No, take a long lunch. One will be fine," Amy answered. "I'm meeting Dr. Cooper for lunch myself."

They glanced at each other. "Okay, thanks," the girls said in unison before rushing into the hallway.  _Hmmm, perhaps the rumors are true, and I am too strict._

"Who's Dr. Cooper?" she overhead Hannah ask Emma from the hallway.

"Her husband. He works in the physics department. Nick had him for a guest lecturer a few weeks ago," Emma answered. Their voices still clearly carried. This was another thing Amy had learned about 19- and 20-year olds: they had no idea how loud they were.

"Geez. Can you imagine her husband? What's he like? I bet he's weird."

Amy frowned.

"Oh, he's a total weirdo. Like, the weirdest. He has OCD or Aspergers or something." Amy's frown deepened. "But actually kinda hot. She keeps a picture on her desk if you . . ." At last, the voices trailed down the hallway.

First, Amy's eyebrows went up and then her frown turned into a smirk.  _Oh, you silly young things, you have no idea._

Next she heard an eruption of laughter and the sound of running feet. What was that? She slipped off her lab coat.

"Amy, what has gotten into your lab assistants?" Sheldon called from the doorway.

Amy jumped slightly. Then she smiled broadly at him. "Hey, hottie. You're early."

Sheldon gave her one of her favorite looks, the charming combination of surprise and confusion. "The line in the cafeteria was shorter than I anticipated. You can continue your work. I'll wait."

"Actually, it's perfect. I was at a good stopping place. And I let Hannah and Emma leave early, as you noticed." She took one of the containers Sheldon offered her. "Let's eat at my desk."

"That explains why they seemed so excitable in the hallway. They took one look at me and burst into hysterics. I didn't even think they knew who I was," Sheldon said, pulling a chair over to her desk.

"I think they do," Amy replied, sitting down herself and then reaching for her wedding photo, the one Raj had taken, which was currently hiding behind a photo of Ada. She waved the frame in front of him.

"Oh, right." Sheldon said.  _Did he just blush?_

Amy returned the frame to her desk, but rearranged things so that it was no longer covered by anything else.  _My weirdo_. She opened her container and took out the sandwich Sheldon had brought her. "Thank you for doing this, Sheldon. I know it's a break with routine."

He sighed, as expected. "Let's not make it a habit. You know how I feel about Book Club Night in the middle of the day. It's just wrong."

"I agree. I prefer Book Club at home." Amy paused, thinking of how cozy those evenings at home were with Sheldon, just Sheldon. They were less than an hour of stolen time, but they were all the more precious for it. "But you know Penny and Bernadette and I have had to reschedule so many times. Especially Penny. You remember how hard it is to get away from a small baby. So Book Club in my lab it is."

Chewing his sandwich, Sheldon shrugged. After swallowing, he said, "I suppose we've had it under more dire circumstances."

"Yes, we have." Amy smiled softly at him. "So,  _First Impressions_?"

Sheldon nodded. "I'm confused by this choice."

"Really? I thought it seemed obvious. It should have been entitled 'Amy, Please Read Me.'"

"Exactly. This book was published in November 2014. Why did it take you so long to get around to it?" he asked.

"Autumn 2014? As I recall, I was too busy making out with my hottie boyfriend."

"Amy! We're at work! One of your coworkers could walk by and overhear you!"

"Sheldon, everyone here knows we're married. With a child. This is not news to them. And, as perfect as you think you are, no one believes it was an immaculate conception." She put her hand on his arm, softening her words. "As you know, I keep a running list of books I want to read. There are far more books that interest me than there is time to read them. And sometimes I put a book on my list, but then later it no longer interests me. Or it's just doesn't feel like the right time. This book was the latter."

"Even though it should have been entitled 'Amy, Please Read Me?'"

Amy shrugged. "Like the heart, the reader's mind wants what it wants when it wants it."

"Should I bother to point out that is illogical?" he asked.

"No." Amy grinned back. "Anyway, I guess that every time I went through my list I was pulled by something else. Or thought something else was more important. But now I could kick myself. I can't believe I put this book off for so long!"

"I knew you would love it."

"Did you love it?"

"No. I liked it. But I didn't love it."

"I expected as much." Amy sighed. "What did you like?"

"It was fun. Escapist. It kept me interested and entertained. But, as a mystery, it wasn't much."

"No, you're right. I thought the ending was a little too easy and rapid. It was tied up too quickly and neatly. I couldn't believe that Sophie really had all that time in the cupboard under the stairs to look through all the estate records," Amy agreed.

"Oh, you didn't like it after all. Poor kid, you must have been disappointed," Sheldon's eye were soft and kind upon her.

"I never said I didn't like it. I loved it," she protested.

"Really?"

"Yes. Especially at first. The first several chapters, about the joys of reading and writing, they obviously were written by a true reader and writer. There were several passages I found moving. Here, I brought my Kindle with me." Amy opened her desk drawer to remove her Kindle from her bag. Quickly finding exactly what she was looking for, she cleared her throat. "'You asked if you are a novelist. Let me ask you this, Miss Austen. Are you able to prevent yourself from writing?' 'Indeed not. I find that my stories will not cease to crowd all other thoughts from my mind until I have committed them to paper.' 'And do you have the utmost respect for both the truth of your characters and the emotions of your readers?'"

Sheldon leaned in closer. "But that passage is about writing, not reading. You're a reader."

"Now I am. But I used to dabble in writing some, in middle and high school. Even with that limited exposure, I understand the power of writing. Sometimes there is something that just needs to be said, something that just needs to get out and onto paper." She paused. "Of course, I was a teenager so it was all angst and rubbish as I suppose all childhood writing is."

"Speak for yourself. My childhood writing was never rubbish."

"I'm talking about fiction, Sheldon, not scientific reports."

"So am I. My childhood fiction was never rubbish."

Amy furrowed her brow. "Your childhood fiction? What fiction?"

"Amy, you know. My  _Star Trek_  fanfiction."

"Your what?" Now her eyebrows went the opposite way, high up her forehead.

"Surely you know about that."

"How would I know about that? You never told me."

"Yes, I -" Sheldon stopped and cocked his head. "Oh, you're right. Well, Penny knows. She must have told you."

"Why would Penny tell me?"

"Because that's what happens when you girls get together. You chatter the night away, telling secrets."

"I suppose this is between braiding each other's hair and having pillow fights."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Are you angry?"

Amy flushed. Perhaps she had spoken too strongly. "No. I'm just surprised. I thought I knew everything about you." She smiled, softly, and put her hand on his leg. "As I'm unlikely to have a pillow fight with Penny anytime soon, I'll just have to pry more of your secrets out of her at dinner tonight."

"There are no more secrets from you. I promise." He smiled back at her and squeezed her hand that was still on his leg, and thoughts of Penny, or anyone other than him, flew out of Amy's mind.

Then they heard someone walk by, and Sheldon quickly moved her hand off of his leg. "The book. So, if you thought the mystery was too easily solved, am I to assume you enjoyed the love story aspect?"

"Which one? Jane or Sophie?"

He shrugged. "Either."

"Sophie's was . . . interesting. I thought it was obvious which boy she was going to end up with. I mean, man, not boy. Have you noticed how much younger young people seem now days?" Another confused look from Sheldon. "Never mind. Maybe they seemed so young because Sophie was so gullible. She just accepted whatever each boy told her, with little questioning."

"I think we were meant to believe her mind was too clouded from the amazing sex," Sheldon mumbled looking down at his lap. Amy smiled.

"Yes, but I'm not sure I like the idea that a woman could be reduced to mush just by amazing sex."

He started, his sandwich half-way to his mouth.

"Calm down, Sheldon, this was like days later. Obviously not right after. And I meant her mind, not her body." Did she imagine it or did he just let out a breath? Amy chuckled.

"And Jane's love story? Was it a love story? I'm not sure," Sheldon asked.

"Really? That surprises me."

"Why?"

"Well, because. Let me find it." Amy turned back to her Kindle. "Here it is: 'It had nothing to do with romance but everything to do with love. She had found in him a mind so in sympathy with her own that when the two of them were together there seemed to be no one else in the world.'" She looked up. "You claim to dislike romance."

"I dislike clichés. Romance is almost always used as a synonym for one cliché or another." Sheldon paused. "And Jane is wrong. This type of love could be very romantic. Nothing is more romantic than a mind in sympathy with your own. Although, in this case, I didn't feel it. I think it was the age difference, it was just too great. Not like in the Mary Russell mysteries we read; that age difference is realistic and acceptable."

"Let me see if I understand you correctly. If Mr. Mansfield was closer to Jane's age, you would find their story not only more believable but also romantic? Even very romantic?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"'Jane loved Mr. Mansfield - not with the love of a heroine for a hero, but with a love that was slower and gentler, more intellectual than passionate. With him there was a meeting of the minds she supposed was rare, even between husband and wives. It was as if a part of her mind dwelt in him and part of his mind dwelt in her, and when she was separated from him a part of herself was missing.' Which reminds me very much of something someone once said to me: 'You think you are only the right side of the brain, but I know you are also the left side of mine.'"

As he had spoke, using his eidetic memory for its sexiest purpose, quoting her wedding vows, an ever wider smile had spread across Amy's face along with a warm glow in her heart. Who was he kidding? His love was both passionate and intellectual. She whispered, "And that's how you feel about me." Sheldon just looked at her, and it was all she needed. She continued, "And it's how I feel about you."

"No, I didn't mean that. I'm clearly your hero. You feel very passionately about that."

"Oh, really? My hero?"

"Clearly. I'm a hottie, remember?"

Amy laughed, and Sheldon joined her. He was right, of course. "As it happens, I agree with you. I also thought the age difference was too large to be believable."

"Did this book offend you? I gather that supposedly real Jane Austen fans were offended by this book," Sheldon said.

"No, it didn't offend me. Are you referring to the possible supposition of plagiarism on her part?" Sheldon nodded. Amy answered, "No, because I think that was only added to heighten tension, for dramatic effect. I was confident it would end up being untrue. Although, I have to admit that I didn't care for it as a plot device. I thought it was unnecessary, especially as it seemed so obvious to me how it was going to turn out in the long run."

"I don't understand how you can list a book's flaws and then say how much you love it, regardless of those flaws."

"Hmmm . . . maybe it's like marriage," Amy said softly.

"Marriage?"

"Yes. I know your flaws better than I know my own, but I love you more now then I loved you five years ago."

Sheldon raised a single eyebrow. "What are these flaws of which you speak?"

"You know full well that when you look at me like that there are no flaws that I can remember."


	63. Sobriety

**Sobriety**

* * *

_"I'm just surprised. I thought I knew everything about you." She smiled, softly, and put her hand on his leg. "As I'm unlikely to have a pillow fight with Penny anytime soon, I'll just have to pry more of your secrets out of her at dinner tonight."_

_"There are no more secrets from you. I promise."_

* * *

After his animated Malcolm Reynolds Lego minifigure fell off the walkway and into the cargo bay for the third time, Sheldon realized he was too distracted to beat Niska's henchmen. He paused the video game and looked at his watch. 8:47 p.m. He thought Amy would be home by now.

He wasn't worried, per se. He knew where she was and what she was doing. Sighing, he knew he should have expected this. The ladies had rescheduled this particular pedicures-followed-by-Mexican-food outing at least three times already, so they would probably want to make the most of it while they could. And he had been so excited to finally get to sit down and play his new Lego  _Firefly_  game without interruption. Ada had been put to bed, Amy was out, but . . .

Keys in the door! He lunged upright as the door swung open.

"Is everything all right?" he practically yelled.

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why are you shouting? Everything is fine."

"It's just that I thought you'd be home before now," he mumbled, chastised. Amy had every right to stay out at late as she liked. "Did you have a good time?"

Turning from sitting down her purse, she replied, "Oh yes! Except I had to endure Bernadette's road rage on the way back. I hope she has that baby soon, it's getting worse."

"You're the one who said you might need a designated driver. As you once explained to me, the pregnant female is socially obligated to fulfill that role." He watched her walk closer to him, and he was surprised at how quickly she had entered his personal space.

Just as he was about to hug her, which he assumed is what she wanted to sooth away the road rage, she put a palm on his chest and blurted out, "Sheldon Cooper, you lied today! There  _is_  a secret you've kept from me!"

Sheldon started. How much alcohol did he smell on her breathe? And he successfully lied about something?

"Do you know what Penny told me?" Amy continued. "She told me you once had a goatee! Dr. Cooper, you've been holding out on me."

_Hmmmmm._ Did some form of alcohol make Amy angry? Usually it was horny. This was new. "It was before I met you, when I went to the Arctic to do research. I never brought it up because I don't see the value of facial hair to science."

She strained on her tiptoes to get closer to his ear. "Ohhhh, Dr. Cooper you're going to grow it again. Just think of where it will tickle." And then she purred. _Purred?_

Yes, definitely alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Sheldon frowned. Angry or horny? And how did that happen? She had gone out with a pregnant woman and a breastfeeding woman! It had been a long time since Amy had come home drunk. He assumed that motherhood had mellowed her.

"Amy, are you drunk? And how are you drunk? You went out with two woman who aren't drinking. Or, wait!, was Penny drinking? This seems like her doing. Did she pump and dump, as you like to call it?"

"I'm not drunk!" She protested by putting her hands on her hips. "It was a margarita or two. Sheldon, have you ever been out alone with one breastfeeding woman and one pregnant woman?"

"No. You know that."

"It's all mucus plugs and cervical ripening and hooter hiders. I needed some alcohol to get through it, to get my mind off of it."

"Uh . . . uh . . ." Sheldon was amazed to discover that just that single sentence made him want an alcoholic beverage, too.

Before he could formulate a reply, Amy started using her fingers to walk up his stomach and chest. "You know, Dr. Cooper, you could take my mind off anything you want tonight."

_Definitely horny. So not new._  "I think -"

"Come on. You know you want to," she purred ( _purred!_ ) again.

Sheldon gulped. Sex with tipsy Amy could be a lot of fun. A lot. Sometimes she did this thing . . . Sex with drunk Amy, though, was completely off the table. He refused to make love to her in that condition; he wanted her to knowingly consent and to enjoy every moment of it. Tipsy or drunk? There was only one way to find out.

"Okay, little lady, I think it's time for Dr. Sheldon Cooper's 21-Step Sobriety Test." Then he mumbled, "Patent pending."

"Ohhhhh, I've missed Dr. Sheldon Cooper's 21-Step Sobriety Test," Amy said, stepping away from him.

_Did her eyes just twinkle?_ Sheldon shook his head. Surely not.  _It's just the false brightness from the alcohol._

"Okay, step one," he said. "Turn 70 degrees toward your right and walk on the line created by the joint on the floor for three feet. Heel to toe."

Amy pivoted on her right foot and slowly but ably walked the seam in the wooden floor, heel to toe. It was only when she finished that she wobbled.  _Hmmmm, what an odd time to wobble, when the hardest part was done._

"Step two: touch the tip of your nose first with your left index finger and then your right index finger."

She accomplished this task smoothly.

"Step three: stand on only your left leg for ten seconds."

Raising her arms for balance, Amy brought her right foot up to her left knee. Her back was to him, but he swore he heard her giggle slightly.

"Okay, walk over to me -"

"Heel to toe?" He thought he heard the giggle again.

"No, standard gait." She turned and complied, returning to stand in front of him again.

"Step four: follow my finger with your eyes while keeping your head still."

Sheldon raised his index finger and slowly moved it toward his right. Amy's eyes followed. He watched her pursuits carefully, how smoothly her eyes moved. He paused slightly at fifty degrees from her nose, but there was no tell-tale shudder in their movements.  _Even at this angle, her eyes are so beautiful._

Suddenly, Amy glanced at him. "Yes, Dr. Cooper?"

"Nothing. Look back at my finger."

"Of course." She looked back at his finger and followed it in the opposite direction, but there was a grin playing at her mouth.

"Step five: how many fingers am I holding up?" Sheldon asked.

"Three." She giggled again, but it seemed . . .  _what?_

"Step six: recite Ada's birth statistics."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "That's new."

"It's my test, I can change it whenever I want. In fact, I change it all the time so you won't memorize the correct responses."

"But I'm tipsy, remember?" Amy batted her eyelashes.

"Answer the question." Sheldon crossed his arms.  _Drat! Her and those eyelashes!_

"Fine. Ada Fowler Cooper. Female. Born February 1, 2018 at 11:34 a.m. Eight pounds, ten ounces. Twenty-two and half inches long. All entirely your fault." She crossed her own arms.

"Amy, there is no room for commentary in the Sobriety Test. Besides, when you chose to procreate with this tall drink of Texan water, you knew exactly what you were going to be pushing down your birth canal. Step seven: recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards."

Amy's eyes went upwards as she thought. "Five. Three. Five. Six. Two. Nine. Five. One. Four. One. Point. Three."

Sheldon grunted in appreciation."Step eight: what are the titles of the two non-fiction travelogues that Charles Dickens wrote?"

" _American Notes_  and  _Pictures from Italy_."

"Step nine: and they are . . .?"

"Overly wordy and the basis of a strongly worded letter to the president of your undergraduate college on what the foundation of a non-fiction language arts class should be. Namely, science texts."

Sheldon smiled softly at the memory. What a charming eleven-year old he had been! "Step ten: name the major elements in the visual pathway in humans, anterior to posterior."

"I presume you want me to start with when light is turned into electrical impulses?"

"Of course."  _She is so sexy when she asks questions like that!_ He shook the thought away. No, this was about whether or not Amy was mentally capable of making the decision to be intimate, not whether or not her responses were turning him on.

"That neuro-chemical reaction takes place in the retina. From there, the impulses travel through the optic nerve, meet and cross in the optic chiasm before continuing to travel down the optic tract to the lateral geniculate nucleus, then the optic radiations to the visual cortex located in the occipital lobe."

"Step eleven: In the board game Star Trek Catan, what resource cards are required to built a Federation outpost?"

"Sheldon, that's not fair, I've only played it twice!" She put her hands on her hips.

"Well, if you're too drunk to pass the test and reap the rewards, then-"

"One food, one dilithium, one tritanium, and one oxygen," she practically screamed it.

Feeling warmer than he'd care to admit, Sheldon took a step back and sat down in his spot.

"May I join you and sit also?" Amy asked.

Sheldon waved his hand over her empty cushion. Amy paused and then flopped down next to him, not in her usual lady-like fashion. It seemed . . .  _deliberate? No, surely not._ "And that was step twelve."

Amy raised her eyebrows.

"It was a test to rule out tuberosity of the ischium or ischial bursitis."

"Neither of which is caused by or impacted by the consumption of alcoholic drinks alone. Perhaps if I were inebriated - which I'm not - I could possibly develop coccydynia by sitting down too quickly, perhaps a falter from a decrease in my motor skills."

"Hmmph," Sheldon crossed his arms. "It seems you discovered the hidden step thirteen."

She turned her head so sharply away from him that he was startled. It almost sounded like she was trying to squash a laugh. Sheldon cleared his throat. "Step fourteen: What occupation was Chaucer engaged in when he wrote his major works, including  _The Canterbury Tales_?"

Amy turned back around, the brightness in her eyes almost dancing. "That's easy. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just want this to be over."

He shifted uncomfortably in his spot. "If that's your method of forfeiture, it could stand to be more explicit."

_No! Wrong word choice, wrong word choice!_  Amy's lips curled up in a devilish smile, and she reached for the top button of her blouse. "You want it explicit, do you?"

"No, not like that."  _Yes, exactly like that._ He croaked, "Just answer the question."

Amy dropped her hands but narrowed her eyes slightly. "Customs comptroller for London."

"Step fifteen: how many strings are on a traditional orchestral harp?"

"Forty-seven." The smirk returned. "I have to say, Sheldon, it's seems that you're losing your touch. This particular test seems awfully simple . . . "

_Drat._  It was just that her twinkling eyes and pleasantly flushed cheeks were making it so difficult to be . . . difficult.  _Maybe If I ask her something that only I should know?_ "Step sixteen: what is Spock's mother's maiden name?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Easy. Amanda."

"Ah ha!" he thrust his index finger up in triumph. "Her full name! You got it wrong!"

"You never said her full name," Amy snapped back.

"Yes, I di - oh." Sheldon's shoulders deflated. What was wrong with him? Why did he forget such an important detail? Because of what exactly what was wrong with him. He shifted once again. "Okay, step seventeen: what was I wearing the day we met?"

"A gray tee shirt with superheroes over a purple long sleeve tee shirt and plaid pants."

"Superheroes? Just superheroes? It was Justice League 2 shirt with the rarely-seen superheroes Red Tornado, Martian Manhunter, Firestorm, and -"

"Dr. Fate. The irony is not lost on me."

Sheldon licked his lips. Amy knew the names the superheroes on an old tee shirt he lost in the fire. Amy knew the names of the rarely-seen members of Justice League 2. Amy knew about Dr. Fate. Amy knew -

"Oh! I remember! Grayson!" She actually clapped at glee with this statement, and Sheldon jerked in his spot.

"What?" he asked.

"Spock's mother's maiden name." Amy furrowed her brow. "Hmmm, you seem distracted . . ."

"Not at all. But since you came up with her last name, I suppose I'll give that to you as step eighteen."

Amy covered her mouth, but Sheldon knew she was grinning, maybe even on the verge of laughter. Well, he'd show her that he knew just how to tax her memory! "Step nineteen: recite our Book Club specifics."

"Really?" The smile had disappeared. "That's a little vague, don't you think?"

Sheldon shrugged. "If it's too vague for your inebriated brain, then I guess . . ."

"The full name of the Book Club is the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation. The first meeting was on September 30, 2014. We read  _A Natural History of Dragons_  by Marie Brennan. To date, there have been twenty-nine Books Clubs. Is that what you want?"

"Just keep talking. I'll tell you when you've passed."  _Because I like watching your lips move_. He shook his head sharply to dislodge that thought.

"Hmmmph. Fine. You didn't want to discuss the first book because you thought it was too much like discussing your own feelings, and you thought there weren't enough dragons. I thought the book's strongest point was its excellent use of tone and syntax." She paused and Sheldon made a turning motion with his hand to imply she should continue. He knew he was in trouble the minute the smirk returned. "You also attempted to flirt with me by raising one eyebrow. You thought it would get you out of discussing the book. Instead, it back fired and you became so focused on your physical action that you inadvertently agreed to a bimonthly book club."

"I wasn't flirting!"

"Oh really?" Amy raised one her own eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I have an IQ of 187. I am perfectly aware of when I'm flirting."

"Tell that to your eyebrow."

Sheldon smacked his hand against his forehead to push the unruly ridge of hairs back into place. Amy grinned at him without subterfuge this time.  _I need to save this test._ He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "Step twenty: recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards!"

Her eyes widened slightly, but the grin stayed in place. "You're repeating yourself, Dr. Cooper."

"Good. That was the correct response to my trick question. Now, the final step, step twenty-one: actually do it. Recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards."

Her grin settled into the naughtiest of smirks. "Five." But is came out as fiivvveee, all hot air and humidity. "Three." Her over enunciation led to the tip of her pink tongue flashing at him. "Fiivvveee." Like she was singing a sultry song at a summer garden party. "Six." Hissing and leaning closer to him. "Two." Her lips pouting as they encircled the strong T sound. "Nine." She left her mouth gapping a bit at the end, and she leaned even closer. "Fiiivvveee." Closer. "One." Sharp and fast, a staccato sound. And closer. "Four." She put a palm on his chest to steady herself as she inched ever nearer. "One." Almost a whine this time. Closer. "Point." The end was a sharp barb. He had to lean back now, she was so close to him. "Three." It came out with an almost-moan, her mouth so near to his he could taste her hot breath.

He gulped and barely whispered "Tipsy" before her mouth was on his. It was on her lips: the alcohol, the salt from the tortilla chips, the desire. Oh, the desire.

Amy attacked him over and over again with rapid, eager, smacking kisses. He could barely keep up with her, his lips in a constant state of puckering, pressing, falling back. "Amy," he at last managed, "should we move this into the bedroom?"

"We could," kiss, "but then," kiss, "this may be," kiss, "one of the," kiss, "last times," kiss, "we can," kiss, "have sex," kiss, "in your spot." Kiss.

_Oh, God, she is so sexy when she is so logical._  He grabbed the sides her head, burying his hands in her hair, stopping her from kissing him again. "Wait, I have a confession to make. I knew you weren't drunk after the horizontal nystagmus test. I just like to listen to you recite all those random facts."

"I purposely wobbled at the end of the straight line test so you'd keep asking." Amy slipped her hands under his tee shirts and raked her fingers through his patch of spare chest hair. "I know what turns you on. Fiivvveee . . ."

* * *

_**As always, thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	64. Eaters of the Dead

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2019**

**Primary Topic: _Eaters of the Dead_ by Michael Crichton**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Beowulf_  (author ** **unknown)**

* * *

"Daddy! Daddy!"

For a split second, Sheldon was surprised to hear Ada calling for him, seeing as how it was after her bath-story-bed time. Then he quickly remembered what week this was, and once he remembered, he couldn't believe he had forgotten. It was the scariest week of his life: it was toilet training week. Amy had been researching the topic for months, and she was determined to have a completely toilet trained child at 18 months of age. Sheldon shared her enthusiasm for the discontinuation of diapers and the replacement of the more hygienic indoor plumbing at the earliest possible moment. However, reaching their goal had already resulted in three extremely trying and distressing days, and that was putting it mildly. To think he had taken a week off of work and helped Amy roll away the living room rug for this torture that she called 'a united front.'

Forcing a smile on his face, he turned away from his new whiteboards and crouched down to meet his daughter running toward him in her pajamas. "Yes, Ada?"

"I poo'd in the potty!"

"Uh, congratulations. I'm very proud of you." Then he heard Amy clear her throat, so he put his hand up to receive Ada's soft high five.  _Daddy doesn't high five._ But he had soundly lost that argument to Amy, who said it was either high fives or they would have to do a potty dance. Sheldon had no idea what the potty dance was, and he intended to never find out. The whole experience was difficult enough without it.

"Yes, Ada, if you keep this up you'll be a Potty Professor in no time!" Amy cheered. "Now say goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ada said, and Sheldon gathered her for a hug.

"Goodnight. I love you," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He waited until they had cleared the corner to the bedrooms, waving the whole way, before he ran to douse his hands in Purell. He knew Ada would have washed her hands under Amy's careful supervision - it was an essential part of the training - but he couldn't help but worry that perhaps she wasn't as vigorous about it as he would be.

And then there was this whole Potty Professor nonsense. That had been another lengthy negotiation. He didn't understand why it had to have name and a diploma. Additionally, he objected to the word potty; shouldn't they teach her to use the correct term? No, Amy was firm, everyone at the daycare called it a potty, the stories they had been reading to Ada for two months now called it a potty (horrifying books, truly horrifying), it was the standard vernacular for the preschool set; they would call it the potty. The only thing they agreed on was that the term used by the website Amy had been most influenced by, Potty Princess, was poppycock. Actually, Amy said it perpetrated gender stereotypes, a lack of motivation for an intellectual career, and encouraged materialism, which was her way of saying the same thing.

"Toilet Timelord?" Sheldon had suggested.

"No, I already told you we're using the word potty. Potty Pirate?"

"Too violent. The last thing you want in the bathroom is anything violent," Sheldon said. "Potty Pilot?"

"I'm not opposed to it in principle, but I don't think it will interest Ada. She does not share your fasciation with methods of locomotion and long distance travel," Amy replied. It was true; the wooden train set Sheldon had bought her was only ever used by Jacob when he came over. Amy continued, "What about Potty Professor? She is familiar with the concept, and she loves visiting us at work."

"We're not professors. Potty Professional?"

"Too vague. And I don't think she knows the word. But she does know what a professor is, there are several professor characters on  _Sesame Street_. And I think she does think we are professors because many of her class-mates' parents are."

Sheldon snorted. "It seems I need to better educate her on the difference between research and academics. Fine, Potty Professor, if you insist. How did your mother toilet train you?"

Amy had shrugged. "I don't remember. But I doubt she did it herself. I'm certain that would have fallen in Aunt Flora's purview. All the difficult jobs did."

"What are you doing?" Amy's voice startled him, bringing him back to the present, where he was wringing his hands, the smell of isopropyl alcohol in the air. "You know I'm teaching her to wash her hands exactly the same way you are. Your hands are already so dry and red."

"I can't help it." He looked pleadingly at Amy.

"I know." She smiled softly back at him, and reached for the lotion by the kitchen sink. She squirted some on her hands and took his hands in hers, rubbing it in. "But this is another reason I wanted to potty train early; all that Purell after diaper changes is ruining your hands. And aren't you pleased? We're only three days into this method, and it really seems to be working. We had already tried to the bathroom after her bath, but then she told me in the middle of the story she needed to go. And poo, too!"

"I am pleased." Sheldon pulled Amy in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You're a genius. But can we please use the word defecate?"

Amy chuckled into his tee shirt. She backed up, still smiling. "Book Club?"

Sheldon nodded.

"You have to explain this choice to me," Amy said, walking toward the sofa.

"It's fantasy. I like fantasy," Sheldon replied, joining her.

"Well, yes, you love  _Games of Thrones._  But this felt like . . . hmmm, I don't know. It was written as though it were some sort of Medieval manuscript, not a modern novel. That's more my preference than yours."

"That's why I picked it," Sheldon said.

Amy raised her eyebrows. "I thought we discussed once that we should only pick the books we want to read, not the books we think the other person would want to read."

"You mentioned it, but we did not make it a rule. And, why shouldn't we pick something we think the other person would like?"

"Weellllll . . . I don't really know now. Okay, so what made you pick this one for me?"

"Do you remember the day I was trying to find something to watch, and I stumbled across that episode of  _Voyager_  that you love? 'Heroes and Demons,' from season one? When the Doctor has to enter Ensign Kim's holonovel of  _Beowulf_? And you insisted we watch it?"

" _I_  insisted we watch it?  _I_ had to force you to watch it because you hate  _Star Trek_ so much?" Amy asked, a smirk playing about her lips.

"You know what I meant. It's one of your favorites," Sheldon said. "It made me wonder if there was another retelling of  _Beowulf_  you would like, one you hadn't read before."

"Well, thank you. You were right, I had never read this. Did you like it?"

"It was a little slow at times, too descriptive of unimportant or irrelevant pieces of information, but on the whole, yes, I liked it."

"That's what I liked about it. It was meant to be a manuscript written by a visitor from a foreign land, something he wrote for his own people. It makes sense that he would explain all these little details that strike him as strange or different. Also, most medieval literature would be considered rambling by our modern standards. Often it was because there was an underlying moral meaning, usually an allegory. But even the few surviving examples of medieval travel narratives incorporate extensive geographical and anthropological information."

Sheldon shook his head slightly. "I should have known better than to read even a modern retelling of a work of medieval literature with you. You know so much more about them than I do."

"That's because I'm smarter than you," Amy said.

"Uh . . . uh . . ."

Amy grinned. "I'm being facetious. Everyone knows our intelligence is equal. Right?"

"Right." Sheldon wasn't sure if she was still being facetious or not. But even he had to admit Amy often made up for those areas in which he lacked knowledge; he had long since determined that the averages of both of their sets of knowledge were the same. "How did this compare to the original  _Beowulf_ for you?"

"I prefer the original. To me, an epic is always better when it's told as a poem. And Old English is so intriguing, it's like a puzzle. But I enjoyed this. I liked the scientific approach to the footnotes."

"Me, too. Did you read the Appendix?"

"Of course. Did you read the author's note at the end?"

"Yes." Sheldon nodded. "Did it make you angry?"

"Make me angry? Why?"

"Because his friend includes _Beowulf_  in 'The Great Bores' of literature; 'texts that were supposed to be crucial to Western civilization but were, in truth, no longer read willingly by anyone, because they were so tedious.'"

Amy smiled. "It made me laugh."

"Really?"

"Yes, Sheldon. Just because I love something doesn't mean I don't see its faults. We talked about this last time. Yes, I disagree, but I am aware I'm in the minority." She paused and took a breath. "Okay, enough about the footnotes and the appendices. What did you think of the actual story?"

"I said I liked it. The battles were good, and I thought that scene where they climb ropes down to the lair of the monster's mother was especially well written." He paused. "Isn't it intriguing that in both the original  _Beowulf_ and here, it is the monster's mother that is even more fearsome than what one assumes is the primary monster? Usually mothers are portrayed as kind and naturing in literature."

Amy tilted her head. "True, but, now that I'm a mother myself, I understand it. There is nothing I wouldn't do to defend my child, if needed. A mother is not just soft and giving, she has to be strong and fierce. I think your mother would fight for you if need be." She ended softly, "I suspect she already has."

Sheldon nodded. Yes, Amy was right. Despite their differences, Mary Cooper had been his protector many a time. He tried to imagine Amy's mother taking up a shield for her, but he just couldn't see it. He could endure, for Amy's sake, the way she spoke to him; after all, it had taken him a while to realize that  _that_  was what passive aggressive meant. But when he heard her talk to Amy that way . . . No, he wouldn't bring it up. He didn't want to ruin Book Club with thoughts of Amy's mother. "So you liked that scene, too?" he asked, instead.

"Yes. I liked what Herger said, that each person has a unique fear, something they are terrified of but that others laugh at. It seemed to me that at that moment, even though he doesn't say so, that perhaps Fadlan realized that all men, everywhere in the world, are the same. We all have fears and joys and sorrows."

"You and I have very different fears," Sheldon said.

"Maybe. Or maybe not. Our smaller fears are different, like your fear of clawfoot bathtubs and ceiling fans. But I think that our larger fears are the same. Remember before Ada was born, and we had that conversation about all the things we were afraid of?"

"Of course." He paused, realizing that, once again, Amy was correct. "'A hero's great challenge is in the heart, and not in the adversary.' But then 'A hero does what no man dares to undertake.'"

"Who said those? The dwarf king?" Amy asked. Sheldon nodded. "They're nice quotes. What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking that if I were to be a hero, which I believe I am inordinately suited to, it would be for internal challenges. Challenges of the brain. But then, I haven't undertaken what no other man is too frightened to undertake, have I?" He sighed. "I think I'm getting too old to be a hero, anyway."

She smiled at him, her soft smile, one of his favorites. "Sheldon, you'll always be my hero. I think -"

Amy was interrupted by the sound of her phone. Sheldon silently cursed it; he wanted to know what else she was going to say. But her phone was ringing, not just the chime of a text. She leaned over the coffee table look at it. "Sorry, it's my mother."

Sheldon shrugged as she picked up her phone.

"Hello, Mother." "I'm fine. And you?" "Yes, Ada is well. And so is Sheldon." She looked over at him and rolled her eyes. "He's sitting right here next to me."

Then Sheldon noticed she furrowed her brow. "Yes, I'm sitting down, I just told you I was sitting next to Sheldon."

He perked up, concerned. Why did Amy's mother want to know if she was sitting down? The last time she had called unexpectedly and asked that, Aunt Flora had died.

"Wait a minute, Mother, I'm going to put you speaker phone so Sheldon can hear this, too."

Sheldon tried to wave Amy off, but it was too late. She put her phone on the coffee table.

"Good evening, Sheldon," said the voice from the phone.

"Hello," he said. Then there was very long pause without a response. Sheldon met Amy's confused gaze.

"Mother?" she asked. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, dear, just gathering my thoughts."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows to Amy, and she shrugged. But then she started to play with the hem of her skirt, divulging her nervousness. Sheldon reached out to still her hand.

"I have given this a great deal of thought, Amy," her mother started, "and I have come to the conclusion that you need to know this. By virtue of what I am about to tell you, there is no harm in you knowing." There was the sound of a very deep breath. "There is no easy way to say this, so I think I'm forced to be more blunt than I'd prefer. Your father passed away yesterday."

Sheldon sucked in air.  _What did she just say? That's not possible because -_

"What?" Amy asked.

"I think you heard me. Your father passed away yesterday. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you."

"But, but, but . . ." Amy looked at Sheldon and he saw the absolute terror in her eyes.

"I don't understand," Sheldon said.

He said it to Amy but her mother answered. "What do you mean you don't understand? The man who is - was - Amy's father has died."

Sheldon wrinkled his brow. What was happening here? "Amy, I thought -"

"Oh, Sheldon, I- I-" She covered her mouth and shook her head at him, vehemently, her eyes wide.

"Will one of you tell me what is going on?" said the voice from the phone.

"Sheldon thought he was already dead! That's what is going on!" Amy yelled and then ran from the room, down the hallway.

"Amy, what do you mean Sheldon -"

Sheldon picked up the phone and hung up on his mother-in-law.

_What just happened?_

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and rocked slightly in his spot.  _Amy's father is not dead. Rather he is now dead, but he was not previously dead. But Amy's father was dead long before I met her. It's one of the things we had in common. Amy had told me her father was dead. Hadn't she? Has Amy been lying to me all along? Why? Why? What is happening? When did Amy first lie to me? What happened? What else has Amy lied to me about? No, I need to think. I need to remember. I can remember this. When did Amy tell me her father was dead? Think, think, remember, remember._  October 2010. The week after his mother came to visit, the week after he gave up Zazzles. The old apartment.

* * *

"It is almost seven. I should leave," Amy said, standing from her stool at the island.

"Yes." Sheldon stood, too. "Thank you for the stimulating and intelligent conversation. It will make it easier for me to report the truth to my mother, that I enjoyed my time in your presence."

"You report the outcome of each of our conversations to your mother?" Amy asked as he turned to put their tea mugs in the dishwasher.

"No. However, this is our first meeting since she expressed her disapproval of our friendship. I want to hector her with the knowledge that she was wrong."

"That is an excellent plan. I like that my bad-girl image may grow stronger as a result."

"Do you tell your mother about our conversations? After all, she was the one who forced you to go on a blind date in the first place," Sheldon asked, turning back around.

"No. I informed of her of the first date, per our agreement, and have indicted to her when she asks during our monthly Skype sessions that we are still in contact. She seems pleased," Amy answered, moving away from the island, walking toward the door.

"Of course she is. You're not-dating a genius." Sheldon followed her to the door.

"What does your father think? Does he also disapprove?" Amy asked suddenly, putting her purse over her shoulder.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "My father died when I was fourteen. As I do not believe in the afterlife, I do not suspect him of thinking anything."

"Oh, Sheldon, I'm sorry." She said it softly, almost a whisper, and something new crossed her countenance. What it was, he could not say.

"Why are you sorry? You did not kill him. He died from cardiovascular complications secondary to alcoholism combined with obesity."

"I'm sorry for you, that your father is dead," Amy replied, still not speaking in her normal timbre. "I don't have a father, either. I never have. He's . . . that is, I believe he, too, is dead."

Sheldon was flummoxed by the change in his girl-slash-friend. What had happened to her? Why was she talking that way? What was that look on her face? Was she . . . sad?  _Oh, no, she's probably going to cry. Or worse, want to talk about her feelings. I have to get her out of here, now._

"My father is dead, your father is dead. I am delighted to have another commonality to report to my mother. Thank you and good night," he said, reaching for the door knob.

She frowned, she turned, and she left.

He shook his head in relief as he shut the door behind her.  _That was close. She almost started to act like a . . . a woman._  And that would never do. He went to call his mother.

* * *

"I believe he is dead." That's what Amy had said. She hadn't technically lied to him. But she had never told him otherwise, not even afterwards when her father had come up briefly in conversation. Not that Sheldon had asked directly. Why hadn't he asked?  _Oh, Sheldon Cooper, why were you so stupid then? If you had just treated her like the woman she was, she probably would have told you._  But if Amy's father wasn't technically dead, why did she believe that he was? He was still rocking, no closer to any answers; in some ways he felt further away from answers. He knew he should go find Amy, she was clearly very upset. She needed a hot beverage and probably a hug. But he needed a plan. Should he call his own mother, would she know what to do?

No, he had no doubts about whose fault this was. He snatched Amy's phone back up from the coffee table and quickly pressed redial, calling his mother-in-law back.

"Amy, is that-"

"It's Sheldon," he interrupted. "Are you certain that Amy's father died yesterday?"

"Of course I'm certain -"

"Did or did you not ever previously tell Amy that her father was dead?"

"I do not approve of your tone -"

"I don't care about what you do or do not approve of. Never have, never will. I only care about protecting my family. Answer the question!" Sheldon stood then, his anger rising out of him. He felt like a volcano.

"I never told her directly that he was dead."

"Then why did she believe he was?" he shouted. "What have you done?"

"Because -" he heard her voice break slightly, the first sign of weakness he'd ever noticed in her.  _Good._ "- because when she told me she thought her father was dead, I let her believe it. I never contradicted her. I guess I thought Flora would tell her someday."

For the second time in one night, Sheldon hung up on his mother-in-law. He tilted his head back and let out a long, low breath, pumping his free hand into and out of a fist. He couldn't remember the last time he was this angry. _I need to calm down before I go to Amy._  He straightened his head and took a slow breath in. Then out. Kulinar. After several breaths, he sat Amy's phone back on the coffee table and walked down the hallway, forgoing the hot beverage in search of answers.


	65. Secrets

**Secrets**

* * *

_Sheldon wrinkled his brow. What was happening here? "Amy, I thought -"_

_"Oh, Sheldon, I- I-" She covered her mouth and shook her head at him, vehemently, her eyes wide._

_"Will one of you tell me what is going on?" said the voice from the phone._

_"Sheldon thought he was already dead! That's what is going on!" Amy yelled and then ran from the room, down the hallway._

* * *

The bedroom door was open, but it was dark inside. Sheldon stepped into the doorway. "Amy?"

He heard a whimper. He reached over to turn on the light, and Amy was opposite of him, huddled in the corner, on the floor. When the light came on, she shielded her eyes. She looked, he thought, like a terrified wild animal.

"Amy?" he asked again, softer this time. She didn't move. He walked over to the corner. "Amy?" No reply again, the upper half of her face still behind her hands. He crouched down and put his hands on her shoulders. Amy curled away from him, turning her body so her face was against the wall. "Amy, come here," he tried to say it as gently as he could.

"You're angry. You're very angry. I heard you shouting. Don't touch me, you're angry with me."

Sheldon closed his eyes involuntarily and sharply sucked in his breath.  _Why would Amy say that? Does she really think I would ever . . ._  He shuddered. He couldn't even think the words.

"No, I'm not angry with you. I'm confused. And even if I were angry with you, you know I would never hurt you. Please, I don't know what to do." He sat down on the floor behind her, careful not to touch her. "I'm frightened, too."

She looked up then, turning her her head to look at him. "Oh, Sheldon, that's not what I meant. I've never been frightened of you. Just another example of what a horrible person I am, letting you believe something else that isn't true." Putting her head down again, a sob came out.

"Amy." Sheldon squeezed in closer. He barely put his arms around her shoulders, not wanting to alarm her further; instead of resisting, she sank back into him. He pulled her in closer, her back to his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. He wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders, which suddenly felt so frail to him. "It's okay now. Let it all out."

He rocked with her while she sobbed, great raking sobs, tears and snot falling onto his arms that crossed in front of her. If it had been anyone other than Amy or Ada, he could not have done it, endured it. But she had once held him this way, when he didn't think he deserved it, and it was the least he could do in return. At last, her sobs started to quiet. He kissed her hair again. "I'm going to go get a washcloth. I'll be right back."

Amy nodded, and he let her go. He washed his arms, running the water in the sink until it was warm, then wrung out the washcloth so it wouldn't drip.

"Here," he said, returning with it, "let me do it." Sheldon washed her face gently, and then dried it with the same tenderness. "Better?" he asked. She nodded again, but then shivered. "Are you cold?"

She didn't answer, but the chattering of her teeth gave her away. "I think you may be experiencing a little bit of shock. Here, come with me." He stood and took her hand. Leading her to the bed, he pulled the blankets down. "Get in." He reached down and took off her shoes before she lay down. Kicking off his own shoes, he crawled in next to her, covering them with the blankets, even their heads. He rubbed her arms quickly. "Better?"

"Yes," she whispered, shivering against him.

"Can you talk about it?" he asked. "I wish - I think . . . I need to hear what you have to say."

"I'm so sorry, Sheldon, I know what you think, and I don't blame you for being angry -"

"Shhh, not that. I'm not angry with you. As I said, I'm confused." He took a deep breath. "I was shouting at your mother. She said you thought your father was dead, and she let you believe it. Is that the truth?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't remember exactly how it started," Amy wailed, the treat of more sobbing in her voice.

Sheldon moved closer, so their faces were very close in the weird half-light seeping in through the blankets. He placed his palm along the edge of her face. "It's okay, it's okay. Just tell me what happened. Start wherever you want."

Amy took a deep shaky breath, no doubt from her recent crying jag, but no further sobs escaped. "I never knew my father. I don't even know his name. Mother would never say." She paused and looked at him, questioning.

"Go on. It's okay if I already know it. Just tell me however you need to tell me."

Amy nodded and turned her head slightly, seemingly looking somewhere over his shoulder. "Before I went to school, Aunt Flora came to stay with me every day while Mother went to school; she was finishing her degree, you know. And then she went to work at the newspaper. I don't remember what I thought then. I had Barbie dolls and Ken dolls, and I remember playing they were married, but I don't remember if I thought that was strange or not. As you know, I didn't go to kindergarten; Mother didn't want me to go to school until I had to. Something about peer pressure, I think. But Flora taught me everything you learn in kindergarten. She taught me to read, too. She was always telling me how bright I was. And beautiful."

"She was a wise woman," Sheldon whispered.

Amy didn't smile, but she glanced up at his eyes and he saw a glimmer of the promise of a future smile there. "When I did go to first grade, I was an outsider immediately. I hadn't been there for kindergarten so I didn't know anyone, I was dressed like a porcelain doll in frilly dresses, and I already knew how to read. This was when reading was taught in first grade. Do you remember that?"

"Yes and no. I wasn't in first grade very long."

"Oh, right. Anyway, as you know, they wanted to advance me, too, but Mother wouldn't let me. So, because I could read already, I read silently, by myself, while the teacher taught everyone else to read. That was the year I first read  _The Secret Garden_ and _The Little Princess_. I loved them both, I was crazy about them. In both of them, the girl is an orphan. I thought that's maybe what I was. A few kids in my class had parents who were divorced; for a while I thought my parents are divorced, but I asked Mother and she got angry. She told me it was a inappropriate question, of course she wasn't divorced. So then I latched onto this idea that I was an orphan, that my parents were dead. That my real parents were beautiful and cool and would let me dress like the other kids. I asked Flora if I was adopted - I knew not to ask Mother again - and she told me no, that Mother was my real mother. I asked her if my father was dead, and she told me to ask Mother. I kept asking, but Aunt Flora wouldn't say and I think that convinced me. Finally, I got the nerve up to ask Mother. I think I said 'my father is dead, isn't he?' but I'm not sure exactly how I phrased it. But I do remember what she said. She said 'he's dead to us.' I didn't know the difference then, I was six. But now I see how it was all my fault. I asked the question wrong, I took her answer too literally. I wanted to be in a book so badly, I thought it could be like  _The Little Princess_ , that everyone thought my father was dead but then he would come rescue me."

"Amy, you just said you were six. You didn't know."

"But I should have!" She weakly pounded a fist against Sheldon's chest. "You would have! I was a gifted child, I should have been able to think about it properly, I should have reached the correct conclusion. Or asked more questions."

Sheldon shrugged. "I don't know what I would have done. Maybe I would have asked more questions. But I was always encouraged to ask more questions. Pop-Pop and MeeMaw always encouraged my curiosity. Your mother . . . " He stopped. It would not be helpful to bring up his opinions of Amy's mother right now. "Is that the last time you and your mother talked about it? When you were six?"

"Yes. No. Sort of. When I was in fourth grade, there was a huge argument."

"Between you and your mother?"

Amy shook her head. "No, between Mother and Aunt Flora. About me. That year, they would separate the boys from the girls and the girls would be shown a film about getting your period. But your parents had to give permission. Of course, my mother didn't, and I was the only girl sitting alone in the library. I knew all about it, of course, not from my mother but from recess chatter. I knew about sex and the whole thing. The basics, at least. Well, and a great deal of misinformation, too. Anyway, Flora asked about my day when I got home from school and for some reason I told her how embarrassed I had been to be left out. Flora stayed for dinner that night, which was unusual. It was horrible meal. I could feel all this tension in the room, and I didn't entirely understand it. Now, when I think about it, I think Flora was just waiting, and I think Mother knew what was going to happen. But nothing happened until I went to bed. Then I heard shouting from the kitchen, and I went to sit on the stairs to eavesdrop. I don't have your memory, I don't remember all the words, but Flora was mad at Mother because she didn't let me go see the movie. Mother said something about the less I knew about that part of my body the better, and then Flora said something about that just leads to girls thinking they're dying when they have their first period." Amy passed sharply and looked straight into Sheldon's eyes. "I'm sorry, is this too much detail for you? And about that?"

"Um, well, it's not the trajectory I anticipated for this story, but go on. I want to hear it because it's important to you," Sheldon said.

"Anyway, they kept fighting and then Flora said something about that if she didn't tell me about sex, I'd make the same mistake that Mother had, and I'd give my body to the first man who even looked at it. They were yelling at the top of their lungs. I had never heard anything like it. You know my mother, she's so worried about appearances and doing things for property's sake. She's never, ever yelled at me like that. She just frowns and manages to look at me like I'm the most disappointing thing she'd ever seen . . ."

Amy stopped talking, and, for a moment, Sheldon thought she was going to start crying again, he thought he could see the tears welling up in her eyes again. He smoothed his hand down and back up her arm.

She took a deep breath, seeming to gather herself. "The next part I remember clearly, because I never knew that Flora was getting paid to take care of me. Mother said, 'You may be my aunt, but we both know that you're also an employee and I can fire you.' Then Flora said, 'But you're not the one signing my checks, are you?' Then Mother said, 'Don't you ever mention him in this house again.' Flora left after that. She slammed the door so loudly the house shook. I ran back to bed. She didn't come back for two weeks. Mother told me she was on vacation, and I was to go to our neighbor's house when I got home from school. I hated it there."

Amy stopped talking again. Sheldon wondered what she was thinking, if she was thinking about Aunt Flora. He had not known Aunt Flora well at all; by the time he had met her, she was so very ill and then she passed away. But he had always assumed her love for Amy was unconditional, just like his MeeMaw's had been for him. But what if it wasn't? Was Amy thinking that, too?

"But Flora came back," Sheldon prompted. "Did you ask her about it? The fight? Did you ask about the checks?"

Shaking her head, Amy continued. "No. I'd get in trouble for eavesdropping; and I didn't even put it all together then. I think I was in shock about the whole thing. It wasn't long after that Mother sat me down and talked to me about my period. To be fair, she was honest and answered all my questions. Now, I realize that it was extremely uncomfortable for her to do that, because of how uptight she is. I'm surprised Flora wasn't sent to do it. Mother even told me about sex. I pretended I didn't know anything. I thought maybe she'd finally tell me about my father if I acted innocent. But she didn't. She just talked about how a woman's virginity is the most important thing she will ever own, and it's only meant to be given to one's husband. That giving it up before marriage was a sin and lead to a life of hardship. So I asked her when she had gotten married, and she told me she never had. That's how she knew it was sin and a hardship, because she'd been living with it. I thought she meant me, that I was the sin. I guess I was, sort of."

"Oh, Amy," Sheldon reached up and brushed her hair. "I didn't know you ever thought that."

There was a very weak shrug from Amy. "I didn't ask about him again. Or anything else, really, about her past. Not for a long time. Our relationship was really bad after that, for a few years. I guess I just didn't care about what had happened to her, all I could think about was how angry I was with her. It was the worst age for that to happen. I would refuse to do things to spite her. It's when she started bribing me, making deals to get me to do things. I threw myself into science, because my mother preferred the humanities. I insisted on harp lessons, because Mother doesn't like the harp, she thinks it's indecent to straddle something like that. If it weren't for Aunt Flora trying to keep us calm, I don't know what would have happened."

Another pause came, and then it stretched out between them. Sheldon waited for Amy to pick up the story again, but she just kept looking over his shoulder, staring at something he could not see or understand. "You seem at peace with her now. I know you're not close, but you seem . . . okay, I guess."

"It got better after I went away to Harvard. What a series of fights we had about that! She wanted me to stay close to home. I don't know what happened, but one day she changed her mind. Just like that. Anyway, the day before we left for Massachusetts, she sat me down and talked to me again about my virginity is a gift. She had been telling me every week for years. But this time she told me how she met my father, how young freshman girls were naive, how men used flattery, I don't even remember it all. But it's the first I learned he had been her professor, that he was married but she didn't realize it, she didn't even think about it because she was so enamored or whatever." Amy sighed. "I'm sorry, this is boring you. I just realized, saying it like this, it doesn't even seem real. It seems like a soap opera or something. A 1950s morality play, not something that would have happened in 1980. Even my mother, she seems trapped in another time."

"But it did." Sheldon said softly. He had never thought about Amy's mother being out of time. His own mother was so morally strict, he assumed that was the state of mothers everywhere. "Did your mother ever say what happened to him, your father?"

"No. She just said it ended badly, that he couldn't be a part of our lives and she didn't want to talk about it again."

"Did you ask?"

Amy closed her eyes for what seemed a long time. Sheldon waited. Finally, when she opened them, he saw they were wet with tears. She whispered, "I think I knew. I think I've always known. I just didn't want to admit it. And I'm so ashamed I did the same thing I hated my mother for doing, I let you believe it, too. Because it was easier. Because it didn't hurt as much. Because having a dead father is tragic, yes, but not in the same way. Because, at least if he was dead it wasn't because of me. Because if he were alive, wouldn't he want to know me? Why didn't he want me? Why didn't my mother want me? Nobody wanted me."

She closed her eyes again, and Sheldon reached up to brush the tear off of her nose. "I wanted you, Amy. I'll always want you."

Pulling her in close, holding her tight, he let her cry again, this time gently.

* * *

The new whiteboards had been Amy's Christmas gift. They were floor-to-ceiling boards, hung on tracks so that they could slide in front of the bookshelves. They both gave Sheldon more space than he'd ever had to work, and they hid some of the more unsightly contents of the shelves.

But that Saturday morning, three days after Amy's revelation, he stood in front of the expanse of white, not having a single thing to compute. Rather, he had too much to compute. Amy was gone, she had left him to go see her mother. He had offered to come with her, even though his mother-in-law's house was on his top five list of most dreaded destinations; but she had said no, this was something she had to do alone. He couldn't help but think of her, curious what she was thinking on the drive, what would happen between them.

Sheldon looked over and down at Ada, playing contentedly on the floor. She had two of her little dolls in her hands, and they were very clearly having some sort of conversation. He could hear jabbering all morning, only making out the occasional word. This filled him with pride: his little _homo novus_ , already giving science lectures that she just didn't know the words for yet. Amy said she was telling stories, but Sheldon was certain he knew better.

Then he frowned. Was Ada content? Granted, they had had their usual early Saturday morning television and cuddle time, before Amy had gotten up. But did she know she was . . . wanted? That she has been longed for, created with desire, anxiously awaited, loved from the very first second she had noisily entered their lives?

"Ada?" he said, crouching down to her level.

She looked up at him, and, in the both gangly and incredibly limber way of toddlers, she was standing and rushing toward him almost instantly.

"Daddy!" she cried, putting her arms out to him, still clutching her toys, her face the same unabashed joy he had seen so often on Amy's face. Sheldon pulled her in close for a tight hug.

Work was hopeless now. "Would you like to spend all day playing with Daddy today?"

Ada pulled back and nodded rapidly.

Sheldon grinned at her. "Would you like to go the park?"

"Yes!"

"Let's go. But first -" he gripped her arm as she started to turn "- remember the new rule: you have to use the toilet - I mean, the potty - before we leave to go anywhere. Because we most certainly are not using the public restroom at the park."

She swirled away from him, already scampering toward the bathroom. Once that was finished, other preparations were completed, his usual messenger bag replaced with Ada's bag, and all the straps on the stroller were secured.

At the park, he swung her gently and sighed softly. Amy was right. There could be no denying it the sunlight: Ada's hair was lightening. It was already lighter than Amy's, which he hated, and in the brightness of morning there was a copper glint. Just like his mother-in-law's. It didn't seem fair to him in the least.

"Higher, Daddy!"

Welcoming the interruption to his thoughts, Sheldon said, "Do you know that if I just push you higher that only increases your kinetic energy? But if you learn to pump your legs, you will raise the overall center of mass of your body, effectively raising the height of your sw-"

"Higher!"

No stranger to a strong command issued by the females in his life, he pushed higher, and he grinned at her squeals. When they quieted, he slowed the swing until it stopped, and then he walked around to the front to raise the safety bar. "See, Ada, physics is fun!"

"P-sics is fun," she repeated, stumbling over the new word.

Sheldon picked her up and kissed her cheek. "My little genius. Let's go home and practice, so that you can enunciate clearly when your mother comes back."

Pleased with the distraction his daughter was providing him, Sheldon had considered staying longer, but his fear of the public restroom won. It was probably better to get home sooner rather than later. At home, he tried to get Ada interested in her new set of Duplos, the one he had been saving for when she was the recommend eighteen months of age, but she was more interested in trying to start a tea party with him. Drinking pretend tea from a tiny wooden cup, Sheldon was suddenly surprised to find how much he was enjoying this fractured, nonsensical half-conversation and fake food with her. It had snuck up on him, this joy: here he was, doing one of those things he had once told Amy he was afraid of, and it wasn't driving him crazy. What a strange week it was turning out to be: a week off work, doing something he had dreaded but then turned out to be both successful and for the best; a carefully plotted and executed plan that contrasted with Amy's surprise upheaval. And yet, in the midst of that disruption to their calm lives, there was still Ada to tie them down, the stability she required in her life providing him with the constancy he also craved.

Later, after lunch, he decided to introduce her to one of his favorite things. He held her in his spot while he read the newest issue of Amy's  _Agent Carter_  comic book aloud to her. Ada seemed to greatly enjoy this activity; she didn't seem as distracted as she was earlier during the Duplo phase of the day, and she constantly pointed out pictures to ask "What's that?" Then, as the story progressed, she fell silent and then she fell asleep against his chest. He looked down at her long eyelashes and wondered how it was possible that someone could ever have one of these wonderful creatures and not want it.

After Ada was put in her crib, his thoughts turned to Amy. Having such a wonderful day bonding with his daughter only made him feel worse for his wife, who never experienced the joys of reading with her father. Before long, he found himself pacing. At last, Amy's key turned in the door.

"Amy, you're home!" He lunged at her, hugging her, and he was pleased to feel her return it after her initial surprise. "Tea or cocoa?"

"Tea will be fine," she said. He took that as a good sign. She hung up her purse, while he put the kettle on.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. He wanted to tell her about his day with Ada, and the new phrase they had practiced, but he would save that for later.

She nodded and sat down at the island. "She doesn't hate you, if that's what you're worried about."

"I've never been worried about that."

Amy smiled. "She actually asked me to give you this." Amy slid an envelope across the counter to him.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows and started to open it. "What does it say?"

"I don't know. It's still sealed."

Sheldon opened it and read the monogramed notecard.

_Dear Sheldon,_   
_I apologize for my behavior during our phone conversation earlier this week. You had every right to be angry. I realize now, far too late, that you really are the best thing for Amy. I heard fierce protection in your words that night. I know that my daughter and granddaughter are safe with you and loved by you. I have lived long enough to know the importance of those things. I sincerely hope we can begin again._   
_Yours truly,_   
_Cynthia Fowler_

The kettle started to whistle behind him just as he finished, and he passed the note to Amy to read as he busied himself making tea.

"I think she's sincere, Sheldon, I really do," Amy said, putting it down.

"I don't know why, but I do, too," he said, passing her a mug. "Was she contrite with you? You deserve a much larger apology that can be contained on any stationary."

His wife nodded. "Yes. I'm glad I went to see her. It's not perfect. Our relationship will never be perfect, I know. Maybe not even happy. But it's . . . a start." She paused. "I think she was - maybe still is - angry at herself, ashamed of herself. She's such an intelligent woman, and she feels like she forgot herself for a few weeks and then had to live with it for the rest of her life . . . " Amy took a deep breath, and Sheldon waited for her to continue. "In her mind, she thought she was protecting me. Because she knew my father would never be involved in my life, so she thought the less expectations I had about him, the less I knew about him, the easier it would be for me. But she told me she didn't expect it to be so hard. Not motherhood only, but . . . she said she sees a lot of him in me, and that's been very hard."

"But that's not your fault," Sheldon said, protesting softly. He thought of Ada, who still looked so much like him, except for her changing hair. How much he had wanted her to look like Amy, but genetics had a different plan. Only sometimes, certain expressions on her face reminded him of Amy.

"I know, but I can sort of understand. When I look at Ada and I see you . . . for me, it's a happy feeling, but if you weren't you . . . I'm not saying I think it was the correct way to handle the situation, but . . . I can see that." She shrugged softly. "He was a scientist, too, a professor of chemistry. He spoke fluent German. He played the violin. You were right, he paid for Harvard; he went there. And Flora's salary, of course. Money for my clothes, too, and the harp lessons. They never spoke again. Mother would get the checks in the mail from his secretary. Sometimes Mother would call her to ask her to relay to a message, but the answer always came from the secretary."

While she spoke, Sheldon walked around the island to sit next to her. "Did you ask her? Are there . . . do you have any siblings?"

Amy shook her head. "She really doesn't think so. There aren't any children listed in his obituary, so none with his wife. She gave me a copy; it's long, he was very distinguished in his field. Do you want to read it?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes." Amy pulled the folded clipping out of her blazer pocket. She carefully opened it on the counter between them, pressing it flat. Sheldon was startled by the picture. It was an older picture, of a young man, but his smile, that wry smile . . . It was smile Sheldon knew well.

He looked over at Amy. "Would you like to read it to me?"

"Very much." And she started to read.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	66. William Shakespeare's Star Wars

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2019**

**Primary Topic: _William Shakespeare's Star Wars: Verily, A New Hope_ by Ian Doescher**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Eaters of the Dead_ by Michael Crichton**

* * *

She almost tripped over them coming around the corner. Amy looked down with a frown, surprised that Sheldon missed them in the "let's put away our toys before bed" routine. She bent down to pick up Ada's itty bittys and then stopped. They weren't scattered pointlessly, but instead were carefully arranged. Earlier in the evening, they had overhead Ada playing with them, chattering away, only able to understand the occasional word; and Amy had smiled knowingly at Sheldon as they worked together in the kitchen, making something that could pass for a balanced meal and listening. That universal proud shared smile of parents:  _Do you hear or see that? We created that!_

A grin grew on her face as Amy realized exactly what this scene was that Ada had dropped for dinner. When she heard Sheldon walk back into the great room after putting their daughter to bed, she called to him. "Come here, look at this."

"Oh! How did I miss those!" He bent down to pick them up.

"No, stop! Look at the scene," Amy said, putting her hand out to keep him from moving the toys.

Sheldon stood back up. "How do you know it's a scene?"

"You heard her earlier, something was going on, the way she talks when she's telling herself a story. And look at how they're arranged."

The itty bitty collection had become larger than either of them intended. It was one of those serendipitous moments when Sheldon and Amy independently had the same thought at the same time. Sheldon had bought Ada both the Marvel and DC Comics set of the small plush toys, and Amy had bought both the Great Women of History and Famous Authors set. Now, ten of the characters were arranged in rows, and two of the characters were at very front. Amy continued, "I think Captain America is marrying Joan of Arc."

Sheldon gave her his confused look. "Clearly, this is the Nobel Prize ceremony. One of them is receiving the prize and the other is giving it."

"No, they're getting married. It actually seems like the perfect match, now that I think about it."

"Okay, fine, they're receiving the joint Nobel Peace Prize, which will prove to be controversial."

Amy chuckled. "Given Ada's age, I think a wedding is more likely."

"I've got it!" Sheldon said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "This is the rebel base on Yavin IV, and they're receiving their prize for destroying the Death Star."

"Did you just flawlessly segue into Book Club?" Amy turned to look up at him.

"Everything I do is flawless, so yes." He raised a single eyebrow.

Amy laughed. "Well, shall we flawlessly segue over to the sofa?"

"We should pick these up first." They quickly put the toys in the appropriate basket and moved to the couch.

"Didn't this book make you wonder why it took so long for someone to realize that Star Wars is really a Shakespearean comedy?" Amy asked.

"It is a comedy?"

"In the modern sense, no. But in the Shakespearean sense that there are only comedies and tragedies, yes. After reading it, I just couldn't believe that no one had thought of this sooner."

"You only thought that after reading it? Not before? Why did you pick it then?" Sheldon asked.

"I picked it because of _Eaters of the Dead. Eaters of the Dead_ is a modern retelling of an old story. Sort of. I thought it would be an interesting counterpoint to read an old retelling of a modern story. So,  _William Shakespeare's Star Wars_. I thought it would be witty and probably a little clever, but I didn't expect this." Amy stopped suddenly.

"Expect what?" Sheldon prompted, turning in his spot to face her eagerly.

"I loved it.  _Loved_  it." Amy's hand flew to her chest, as though touching her heart could convey the depth of her enjoyment. "I wasn't expecting that. I actually - and please don't hate me for this - liked it more than the movie."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "More than the movie? The theatrical release or the director's cut? Original theatrical release: never; director's cut: I can support that."

Amy nodded. "Both. I thought it was deeper. The emphasis was more on the emotions and the personalities and the motivations and the psyches of the characters."

"Huh," Sheldon said. "I didn't think about it quite that way, but I see your point. I wasn't sure when you picked it, I was apprehensive. I thought it would be a joke. Or a satire, which always confuses me. But it wasn't. It was a serious version of  _Star Wars._  I really liked it, too."

"I'm so relieved!" Amy let out a breath.

"Why are you relieved? We've disagreed on books before," Sheldon asked.

"I just loved it so much, I wanted you to feel the same, so we could talk about how wonderful it is together. What was your favorite part?" Amy said.

"It struck me how well the modern technical terms seemed to fit into iambic pentameter, which I had not anticipated. 'My circuity o'erloads, my mind's o'erthrown! / And fear that put its grip into my wires' and '-But O, what now? What light through yonder flashing sensor breaks?' You're a student of older forms of English, what did you think?"

"I agree! It was so well done, the effort and scholarship were excellent, the execution was perfect. Some of the soliloquies were just divine." Amy leaned forward to pick up her Kindle, her well-practiced fingers quickly finding what she had marked. "I loved this one by Hans:  
'Then how can I imagine that a man  
Can fly without a conscience as his guide?  
Without the inner compass of my soul,  
How can I vainly hope to pilot life?'"  
Amy sighed softly. "And, sometimes, it wasn't even a soliloquy. I loved this, too: 'No more courageous battle hath there been: / 'Tis like the day does combat with the night.'"

Sheldon smiled at her. "I should have asked you to read the whole thing to me. You have such a pleasant reading voice."

Amy blushed under his gaze. "I really wish someone would perform this production. I loved the stage directions and the drawings, so that the reader could visualize exactly how a space opera could be staged in the Shakespearean manor. Like the Death Star, just brilliant!, the idea there."

"Me, too." Sheldon paused and sighed deeply."I would suggest we organize it among our friends, but no one likes to play games anymore."

"What do you mean?" Amy asked, her brow wrinkling. "You still play video games with your friends. And go to the comic book store sometimes."

"Sometimes. That's just it. I see Stuart more socially now than at the store. And when we do play video games, someone always has to pause it and go change a diaper or wipe a nose or something. It's very difficult to advance to the next level when your concentration is broken like that."

"We can't all be Peter Pan," Amy said softly. But Sheldon had said something that she hadn't realized before; it seemed like she, Penny, and Bernadette were always working to organize a time when they could go out without the children. It now occurred to her this was always at the expense of their men. "I'll talk to the girls, we'll organize something were we have all the kids, and you boys can just play." She paused and bit her lip slightly. "I miss our games, too."

"You played games with the girls?" Sheldon asked. "Oh, drinking games?"

"No, not drinking games. We're not freshman with fakes IDs," Amy huffed. Then she dropped her eyes slightly. "I meant . . . you and I . . . our games. You know," she shrugged, "when I'm Nurse Chapel or River Song or something."

She even had a new Nurse Chapel dress in the closet, from last Halloween. Sheldon had planned a family costume, but, at the time, Amy had suspected he had other plans for that dress. And, yet, time had slipped away and she had never put it on again. Even this year's costume was already planned and purchased, but it had not even crossed her mind to put on the long white gown, braid her hair up into two buns, and make wild space love with her Hans Solo-clad husband until this moment. She could imagine it: Sheldon lying on the bed, in his black vest, waiting for her come into the bedroom.  _'Your Highness, how exquisite you look.'_  She would smile back coyly.  _'I know. And is that your blaster in your leather pants or are you just happy to see me?'_

"Oh." Sheldon raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yes. But you know I like you best when you're Dr. Fowler, right?"

Amy smiled and brushed his cheek. "Of course. I like you best when you're Dr. Cooper, too."

They looked at each other for a moment before Sheldon looked away. "What did you think of how the author handled the whole Luke and Leia are siblings but don't know it yet quandary?"

Lifting her eyebrows slightly at the unexpected turn in conversation, Amy replied, "I thought it was done well. When Leia kisses him, she states that it's to give him courage. I like that the writer acknowledged that we all know they are twins - " she looked down at her Kindle again "- here it is: 'Not e'en were she my sister could I know / A duty of more weight than I feel now.' It was a clever turn of phrase, a little in-joke."

Amy waited for Sheldon to respond, and finally he did, after a deep breath. "It's just there's a whole scene, on board the Millennium Falcon, after Alderaan is destroyed, the way they're speaking . . . I don't know, it felt very . . . important."

"It was important. And, yes, the mirroring of their thoughts was lovely."

"They're both grieving but also full of hope. They realize that their lives have changed, that their destinies are intertwined. He wants to be her beacon, and she wants to be his comfort . . . I don't know." He sighed. "Is it too disturbing if I tell you that it felt a bit like comprehending that you're in love?"

Suddenly, and shamefully, Amy realized that she had not told Sheldon how much she loved and appreciated him, not just in general, but especially for how patient and supportive he had been after the last Book Club, when she needed that so badly. She was ashamed to find perhaps she was falling into a trap of marriage, in which your love and appreciation for the other person feels so obvious and comfortable to you that you forget to tell the person you love most in the world what they mean to you. It becomes too easy to leave out, not just the sexual role-playing, but also the little niceties, the pleases and thank yous, because you are so busy, working in the trenches together, raising a child, having a career, running a household.

"Sheldon, thank you," she said softly.

He cocked his head. "For what? You especially liked that passage, as well?"

"No. Well, yes, I did. But for being you. For being here. For working so hard with me. And, especially, for being so supportive and understanding when I was . . . when my father died." She paused, and Sheldon opened his mouth to speak. Amy silenced him with her hand. "In that passage, Luke wants to a lodestar and Leia tries to be a calming presence. But, even though I don't tell you enough, you are both of those things to me."

Sheldon nodded slowly and reached for her face. It was not until he wiped the tear away that she knew one had fallen. "'Thou art mine only hope,'" he said softly.

Amy smiled even as she felt another tear fall. "Oh, I just ruined another Book Club."

"You haven't ruined a single thing. You've only made it better." He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, whispering in her hair, "Thank you."


	67. The Game

**The Game**

* * *

_She paused and bit her lip slightly. "I miss our games, too."_

_"You played games with the girls?" Sheldon asked. "Oh, drinking games?"_

_"No, not drinking games. We're not freshman with fakes IDs," Amy huffed. Then she dropped her eyes slightly. "I meant . . . you and I . . . our games. You know," she shrugged, "when I'm Nurse Chapel or River Song or something."_

* * *

He stood against the wall of the hallway, in the dark, waiting for her. He liked listening to Amy read the story, her voice soft and low. Sheldon couldn't make out all the words, but he liked hearing the rising and falling of her intonations. Twice, there was a second voice, higher, sharper, the pitch coming up at the end in a question. Ada. He smiled. She was so curious, and her vocabulary was exploding, at least a new word every day now. He had told Amy it was like she was a word monster, and she was eating words alive. Amy had laughed deeply at that, that laugh that made her eyes twinkle and her neck arch . . .

The creaking of the rocking chair, some shuffling, a few firm but loving sounds; he knew there was probably a soft kiss on Ada's hair. Then Amy was at the door, her hand on the light switch.

"Sheldon?" she whispered, shutting the door behind her.

"All is well?" he asked. "And you have nothing else that you absolutely must do this evening?"

Amy's brow furrowed. "Well, there is some laundry to fold. We probably shouldn't let it set in the dryer or it will wrinkle."

"Done. While you were giving Ada her bath." He reached out for her hands and pulled her in closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "How about a game?"

"Mmmmmm," Amy's voice murmured against his face. "What did you have in mind?"

"Something new. Come with me." Sheldon stood up straight, not letting go of her hands, and pulled her gently into their bedroom. He only dropped a hand to shut the door behind them. Then he waved his free hand toward the bed. "Behold."

"Chess?" There was surprise in her voice. He expected it. They played chess fairly regularly; not as much as they did before Ada, of course, but some evenings they would play a game. So the presence of the chess board in the middle of the bed, while not the usual location, was also not entirely new.

Looking at the scene he had arranged, he explained, "Strip chess, Dr. Fowler. Every time I take one your pieces, you take take off an article of clothing."

A deep, throaty sound of approval came from Amy. He had made the right decision. Amy mentioned, during Book Club, games they had previously played. But he knew his wife: she liked to be surprised, and she liked to try new things. She asked, "But what if I win?"

He turned his head to look down at her with a raised eyebrow. "As I'll be naked, I don't think I'll be in a position to argue with your terms of surrender."

Amy looked up at him, her eyes ablaze. "Oh, it will be unconditional."

"I should hope so." He tugged gently at her hand. "Shall we?"

His wife giggled like a school girl and practically skipped toward the bed, sitting gently on her side, careful not to upset the board. He took his own side. "Can we make an agreement that our shoes will be the first to go?"

"Yes," Amy said. "I see that I'm white."

"Ladies first."

"That's always the best bedroom etiquette," she said, surveying the board.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. Yes, he should have expected some verbal sparring from Amy as well. He was already worried about his ability to concentrate on the game with his wife gradually wearing less clothing, but now he saw she was going to attack him on more than one front.  _Clever, clever, Amy._

She moved a pawn forward. "Are we announcing?"

"If you want." He moved a pawn. White pawn, black pawn. The opening moves would go quickly, he knew. Neither of them were announcing yet, maybe they wouldn't. Amy was concentrating deeply on the board, though; that probably did not bode well for his chances -

"I take your pawn at d5," she said calmly, lifting his defeated little piece off the board.

How did that happen? So quickly? She hadn't even spoken, but she still managed to distract him!

"Don't look so surprised, Sheldon," she smirked. "I said unconditional." The she sighed. "I'm regretting the shoes first agreement now."

Smiling back, Sheldon turned around to untie and drop a shoe to the floor. He turned back around.

"No, both," Amy said, shaking her head.

"But they are two separate things!" he protested.

"No, they're a pair of things. Like a pair of pants or a pair of underwear. And it's impossible not to take those off in their entirety."

How was it possible she was fully dressed and still managed to look so naughty?

"That's because a pair of pants and a pair of underwear are misnomers," Sheldon said.

"I was promised naked when I defeat you. Get cracking," Amy said.

Sheldon turned back around quickly, both to remove his other shoe and to hide his smile.

"Okay, where were we?" he asked when he turned back to the board, rubbing his hands together. No more distractions. Feeling bold, he took her pawn with his king.

He had expected her to gasp at his sudden, decisive move. Or at least say something sarcastic. But, no, she silently twisted so that she could stretch her legs out on the bed. Slowly, she ran her hand down her hip, her knee, her thigh, the curve of her calve, her ankle . . . Sheldon watched her repeat the actions on her other leg, and he had to swallow.  _Oh dear. And they're just shoes!_

Amy's face betrayed nothing as she turned back to the board and moved another pawn. His knight, her knight. His bishop, her bishop. His pawn, her pawn. The silence, the tension, it was already killing him. Then she castled! Amy, generally, was not a big fan of castling. She was stepping outside of her usual playbook tonight. He called his other knight into the fray. She brought in another bishop. Ah, she was thinking too far ahead! He took one of her pawns with his. He saw her eyebrows go up slightly.  _Gotcha!_

"Requests, Dr. Cooper?" she said with a smile.

He just waved his hand. Amy reached up to the top button of her cardigan. Slowly, she released it. Then the next. He watched her fingertips, the way she gently caressed each button before she grasped it, how smoothly she slid it into the . . .  _did she always undress this way?_ No, surely not, he would have noticed before. But each button became an exercise in an erotic metaphor. Sheldon felt very warm. He knew, even though he was watching her hands, that she was staring at him. Then, at last!, the buttons were done. Slowly, she slid one sleeve off her arm and then the other. She held the cardigan away from her.

"Like this?" she asked coyly as she dropped it on the floor. "Is that what you meant by stripping?"

"It was acceptable," he managed to croak.

"Maybe you could give me a demonstration," she said suddenly, as her hand shot back to the board to capture one of his pawns.

Sighing, he shifted to take off his socks.

"That wasn't very sexy," Amy said, her voice pouting.

"They're socks. Socks are not sexy by definition. Neither are feet," he said, turning back around.

"Well, you know what they say about men with long feet . . ." she let her voice trail off as she wiggled her eyebrows.

His heart pounding slightly, he ignored it. She was just trying to antagonize him into losing. He may have let her believe he was going to be naked by the end of this, but he was still determined to win. After all, to the victor went the spoils. He moved his second bishop. She moved a pawn in too close for comfort. He moved his bishop away. Her knight moved closer. His king backed away. She chased him with her knight, and his king retreated again. Amy was playing very aggressively.

Too aggressively. Just as she moved her white knight to e5, he saw his opening. He took her bishop with his own. He met her eyes over the board, his hand still gripping her piece. "Tights," he instructed.

Her green eyes met his definitely. She seemed to be seriously considering whether or not to comply. Then she surprised him by getting off the bed and standing next to it, instead of turning around to remove them as he expected. She reached up under her skirt, pulling it up, and tugged on the waistband of her tights. For a second, Sheldon saw a flash of her underwear.  _Oh, help me, it's leopard print day._  She put a foot up on the bed and slowly rolled one leg down, the other pulling down with it. Her foot arched as she stepped out, her red ( _red!_ ) toenails flashing. Then the other leg, even more unhurried than the first, and it was even sexier without the tugging of the other leg in the way. Her skirt still pulled up, her beautiful, creamy, curvy legs . . .

Then she was back, surveying the board again as though nothing had just happened. As though she unrolled her stockings like that everyday, dripping seduction.

"Hmm, where was I?" she mumbled, tapping her lips with her index finger. "Oh, yes, this."

Before he knew what had happened, his bishop was gone. "Pants," she ordered.

"But, Amy . . ." he whispered, knowing just how exposed he would be after her little performance.

"Pants."

_Why is this so embarrassing?_ he wondered as he stood and turned away from her. The cooler air hit his legs. Amy had seen this hundreds of times. Seven hundred and forty-five. Not that he was keeping count or anything. He turned around, and the corners of Amy's lips turned up.

"Hush," he said. "It's not funny. It's a purely biological response to -"

"No, it's the goal, Dr. Cooper," she cooed. "You know, I wouldn't think you were any less of a man if you just wanted to concede defect. It's one of the arts of war, knowing when you've been bested by a superior opponent."

"I've not been bested! No matter what it looks like!"

"Prove it," she said with a knowing smirk.

The challenge in her voice was almost as bad watching her remove her tights. His underwear strained further. Rapidly, he castled. It was actually one his favorite moves, the only time it was legal to move two pieces on the board at the same time. He liked the efficiency. Amy moved a rook. He moved a rook. She moved a bishop. Sheldon moved a bishop. She took his knight.

Sheldon groaned. "I suppose you'll say my tee shirts are a pair of things, too."

Amy screwed up her lips in contemplation. "No, I'm feeling generous toward the weaker army. Just one will be fine."

He separated the hems of his tee shirts and lifted the outer shirt over his head.  _Get it together, Cooper!_   _It may be a sex competition, but it's still a competition!_  He threw the shirt onto the floor.

Feeling vindictive, he swiftly took revenge on the bishop that had just taken his knight. But Amy didn't seem bothered in the least. She just smiled and stood, reaching for the button on her skirt.

"No -" Sheldon put out a hand "- your blouse."

Amy raised her eyebrows, but moved her hands up to the top button of her blouse. He knew he would never win with Amy's beautiful, full hips and leopard print panties winking at him. Even though he was certain of what she was about to do, and he didn't want to watch, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Again with the caressing, her fingers encircling the edge each button before she guided it . . . and was she humming? _This is hopeless._  He shifted uncomfortably on his side of the bed.

Sitting back down, leaning over the board far more than he thought was necessary, her round breasts heaving over the cups of her bra, Sheldon wondered why he ever thought that would be less distracting. He was still watching the line of her cleavage when Amy moved a piece. Startled, he looked back down at the board. It took him a second of memory recall to realize she had moved her knight. Away from him. Was she feeling intimidated now? Sheldon moved a rook. And she took his last remaining bishop with a knight! She wasn't feeling intimidated, she was calculating all along!

Maybe he gapped at the board for a bit too long because Amy asked, gently, "Sheldon?"

He shook his head. "I know." He reached down and lifted off his blue undershirt. How had this happened? How did Amy still have three articles of clothing and he was left hiding - not very well - in only his underpants? Wait a minute! "Amy, it just occurred to me this game is skewed in your favor. You have one additional article of clothing."

"Ah, it just occurred to you, did it?" she asked, her smirk having returned. "I guess you'll have to work harder -" he saw her eyes flick downward, which did not help at all - " to even the odds."

Quickly, he took her knight. "Like that?"

"That will do," she smiled. She stood and unbuttoned her skirt. She took so much time with the zipper, Sheldon thought the sound might be the ripping of his determination to see this game through and not just take her immediately. Then she had the nerve to actually shimmy out of her skirt, kicking back her leg at the end to send it flying away from her.

Sheldon groaned and shut his eyes. He was never going to make it to the end of this game. He no longer felt like he was at war with Amy's chess pieces, he felt like he was at war with himself. He wanted - no, needed - to complete this game, but he wanted - oh, how he wanted! - to have his way with those leopard print panties!

Amy got back on to the bed and sat cross legged across from him. He looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep, long breath.

"Yes, Sheldon?" she asked.

"Nothing," he lowered his head, determined to look only at her twinkling eyes and no further. "Your move."

White rook. Black pawn. White king. Black king. White pawn. Sheldon saw his opening and took it; he attacked her pawn with his rook.

"Well played, Dr. Cooper. The odds are now even." She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. But she didn't let it fall. She used one arm to press the cups in place as she lowered one strap. Then she switched arms and repeated the action on the other side. Now, just holding her bra in place, she said, "Maybe some music?"

Before Sheldon could ask exactly what she meant by that, she said cooed, "Bow chicka wow wow."

Then her bra was flung off her chest and she actually twirled it, swinging it above her head in the air, before throwing it across the room and over his head. Sheldon put his head down into his hands and took a deep Kuliner breath. He heard a rustling on the bed, and he jumped when Amy's fingers lightly touched his arm.

"Sheldon? Are you alright? Do you want to stop? I was trying to make it fun, it's what I thought you wanted. But maybe this is too much for you."

Putting his hands down, he looked into her beautiful green eyes, flecked with worry. "I'm sorry, I do want it to be fun. And . . . parts of it are. I don't know what's wrong with me. We've been doing this for almost five years now, and I'm acting like I'm seeing you naked for the first time. I can't decide what to do. I want to finish the game. But I want to make love to you. I think this was a bad idea. I can't complete both at the same time."

Amy smiled softly. "Yes, you can."

"I can? How?"

"Like this." Then, carefully, she picked up the board and the pieces and gently placed them on the floor beside the bed.

"Amy, I fail to see how -"

"Shhhhh," she whispered, coming up close to him again. "Use that big, beautiful mind of yours." She rubbed her hand along his hip, and hooked her thumb finger under the waistband of his white briefs. "White rook takes black rook at d5."

Sheldon watched her with wonder as he leaned back to allow her to remove his underwear. Oh, how he loved this woman! It was so simple, so obvious, with her showing him the way.

"Black pawn takes white rook at d5," he said as she crawled over him, and he slid his hands into her panties, squeezing her bottom before pushing them down her hips.

Amy barely touched his lips, whispering, "White pawn moves to b3."

He kissed her back, harder, trying to push his gratitude into her. Finally, he broke it. "Black queen moves to h8."

Rubbing his nipples, she said, "White king takes black pawn at b6."

"Black rook moves to g8," Sheldon moaned.

Amy learned down to rub her chest against his, and he could feel her erect nipples tracing his own. "White king to c5."

"Black pawn to d4." He pulled her face down and kissed her deeply, stroking her tongue with his own. She rewarded him with a deep moan before pulling away, turning her head, rushing through the words, "White knight to d6," before she kissed him deeply again.

"Black pawn to f4." A series of gentle kisses along her jaw.

Sheldon gasped when she grasped him. "White knight takes black pawn at b7."

Groaning, he said, "Black knight to e5."

She "White" sucked "king" on "to" his "d5" earlobe.

"Black pawn to f3," he almost screamed, batting her hand away from his arousal. "That's too much." This whole sexy chess game was turning him on so much, he couldn't take much more from Amy or it would be over too soon, and long before she got her checkmate.

"Sorry. White pawn to g3."

He gently but firmly gripped her shoulders and rolled her over on her back. "Black knight to d3."

"White rook to c7," Amy replied, pushing his hand down where she wanted it.

"I believe that's my move," Sheldon whispered.

"Well, then, take it."

"Black rook to e8." He teased her, running his fingertips through her wiry hairs.

"Pleassseee" she begged.

"Let me in," he whispered back, putting his head down to kiss and suck on her breasts.

"Ohhh, white knight to d6."

"Black rook to e1." He slipped his fingers deep inside of her. "All the way across the board."

Amy moaned, long and low. "Queen to h2."

"Oh, the queen is on the move, is she?" he brought his thumb in, to knead where she liked to be touched. He watched her, the way her neck and back arched, her stomach contracted. He watched for a quite awhile before he spoke. "Black knight to f2."

"White - knight - to - I -don't - know - f7," Amy barely managed to get out.

"Black queen -" he leaned closer to her and pressed harder with his index finger "- at g7."

"Yes, yes!" Amy screamed. Sheldon smiled deeply, watching her, listening to her. It was as though her whole body elongated when her climax took her, as she stretched out beneath him. Once she opened her eyes again, he kissed her softly. "White always goes first."

Amy smiled and stroked his hair. "White knight to g5."

Sheldon moved over her, resting his legs between hers. "Black queen to h6."

"White rook to h7," Amy answered, drawing him in.

"Oh, Amy," he moaned and kissed her, chess almost forgotten in this, this feeling, this love for her. He enjoyed loving her for a while, the way their breath was coming in unison, when it occurred to him the game was at a stalemate, there were no more winning moves.

Amy reached for his face and kissed him softly. "Sheldon," she murmured into his lips.

With that, he knew he had already lost. He had already surrendered. Unconditionally. To Amy. Except it felt exactly like winning. He brushed her cheek with his own and whispered, "Amy . . . my queen."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	68. The Time Traveler's Wife (BC)

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2019**

**Primary Topic: _The Time Traveler's Wife_ by Audrey Niffenegger**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Welcome to the Treehouse (Tiny Titans, Volume One)_ by Art Balthazar and Franco Aureliani,  _The Scarlet Letter_  by Nathaniel Hawthorne**

**[Not mentioned but an invaluable research tool for me was the article on slate .com by Dave Goldberg _, Time Traveling for Dummies: A physicist looks at The Time Traveler's Wife_ ]**

* * *

"Ada, you know the rule. You can only bring what will fit in this bag," Sheldon said, crouching down to start pulling things out of the overloaded canvas bag. "With it zipped. Apparently we need to discuss the concept of volume again."

"I want all of them," Ada protested.

"You may want them all, but you cannot bring them all. They will still be here when you return home. Jacob has many toys for the two of you to play with together." Pulling plush toys out and sitting them on the floor, his hand struck something firmer. He pulled out the hardbound book and frowned; it was  _Welcome to the Treehouse,_ in which Robin, Wonder Girl, Kid Flash and all their friends protect their kindergarten playground from bullies among other more mundane adventures like getting a dog. "And you are not allowed to take this book to Jacob's anyway."

"Why?"

"Why not. And because . . ." He searched for a logical reason to explain to his almost-two year old daughter. Not because he had Stuart special order it for her, her first comic book, so he could read it to her. Not because he was thrilled at how much she liked it when he read comics, and he wanted to share this hobby with her. Not because he was being sentimental.

"Because?"

Sheldon looked up, startled. Ada was standing with her hands on her hips, her blue eyes staring at him, her lips pursed. It was uncanny, really, how she normally did not look like Amy and yet could channel her so perfectly at times. She was even wearing a cardigan. Granted, with a purple skirt that looked alarmingly like a tutu, which, Sheldon recalled, had been a gift from Penny.

"Because your father bought you that book as a very special gift, because he thought you were big girl enough to have your own comic book. And comic books are stored on the bookshelves. What would happen if Baby Lucy or Jacob tore a page in your comic book? Wouldn't that make you sad?"

He had not heard her come in the room, but now Sheldon turned toward Amy's voice of calm reason. Baby Lucy! Why didn't he think of blaming everything on her! He stood, smoothing his tie, just as Amy reached down to take the book and put it on the bookshelf.

"You'll take what is already in the bag," she said firmly, zipping it shut. "Come on, let's put your jacket on. It's chilly out."

A possible crisis of the toddler variety averted for the evening, Sheldon watched Amy lead Ada over to the closet to put on their jackets. She was wearing the green dress he loved, not one of her usual floral Date Night dresses. She had done some sort of fancy braid thing with the front of her hair, and he liked the way it was pulled away from her face. She managed Ada with a calmness he envied. She was magnificent.

"Earth to Sheldon, are you ready to go?" Amy called to him, as she tied the waist on her own trench coat.

"Present," he answered and walked across the room toward her. Toward Amy, his wife, the mother of his child, his date, his present.

* * *

"Well?" she asked, the very second they had returned to the car after dropping Ada off at Howard and Bernadette's.

"Well what?" Sheldon replied, buckling his seatbelt.

"Aren't you dying to talk about it?" Amy turned the key in the ignition.

He raised his eyebrows. "It's clear that you are."

"Of course. You just said one thing and then nothing else all night! I've been dying to hear your thoughts."

"But you told me not say anything in front of Ada. You said she's becoming too articulate, and you never know what she's going to say or repeat." Sheldon sighed. "I fail to understand how I'm supposed to simultaneously gossip with you about our friends' mating habits and not discuss those types of topics in front of Ada. Besides, it was clear that you and Bernadette had an entire conversation about it using only your eyes just minutes ago."

"Ah ha!" Amy cheered as though she had just discovered something important. "So you  _do_  know what I'm talking about!"

"Of course. Penny is pregnant. I presume she and Leonard coordinated when to tell us all. He announced it at lunch, and I received your text less than five minutes later."

"But the rest? She's due in May! They'll only be fourteen months apart!"

Sheldon just looked at her. He thought about saying "obviously" but it was obvious wasn't it?

"I've left her a voicemail to get the whole story, but she hasn't returned it yet. She's filming tonight, I think." Amy stopped at a red light. "That's another question I have. How will this impact her new job? She's supposed to be filming this miniseries for a few months, I think."

Not for the first time, Sheldon wondered when he had become such a gossiper. It was all Amy's doing, he was sure of that. "Supposedly, it's a surprise. I tried to point out it couldn't be a surprise because they weren't using any form of birth control -"

"They weren't using protection?" Amy practically screamed.

"Not according to Leonard. He said that because they had such a hard time conceiving Fenton, they didn't resume it after he was born. Some ill-conceived -"

"Pun intended?"

Sheldon tilted his head and smiled. "No, happy accident. Some ill-conceived hippy dippy nonsense about if they're meant to have more children, they just will. And why are we discussing this in so much detail?"

"So much detail? How do you know all of these details before me?"

Sheldon shrugged. "I only learned today. I was content with 'Penny is pregnant and due in May,' but Howard and Raj peppered him with questions. Much like you're doing to me, right now. Except I could ignore them to read texts."

"You obviously didn't ignore them, because you're telling me! And you just said you tried to point to Leonard that it couldn't be a surprise."

"Vulcan hearing. And you know I can't remain silent when someone says something stupid."

"Oh, of course." Then the light turned green, and Amy drove forward. They drove for a moment in silence.

"Amy?" he ventured and then immediately regretted it.

"Yes?"

He licked his lips.  _Oh drat._  He took a deep breath. "Do we, uh, need to talk about this?"

"What do you mean?" Amy glanced over at him, quickly, before returning her eyes to the road.

"It's just well, uh, I thought we had decided together that based on various factors, most importantly your age, that we would only have one child. Perhaps Penny's sudden bout of fertility combined with the arrival of Lucy a few months ago have made you, uh, well, desire further offspring." He let out a deep breath. There, he'd said it.

Amy smiled softly. "Sheldon, have you ever read  _The Scarlet Letter_?"

"What? Yes." That was not the reply he expected.

"Do you remember why Hester names her daughter Pearl?"

"Because she is her only treasure . . . oh. I think."

Amy took her hand off the wheel and squeezed his just for second before returning it. "It is not what she cost, it is what she is worth. What she means."

"Soooo, you're saying you find the status quo acceptable? You're not sad?"

Amy shrugged. "A little when I heard. A little when I hold Lucy. There are so many reasons: we don't have the room for another child, I'm too old, I don't ever want to be pregnant again. But, most importantly, I have everything I want. Besides, you're the biggest kid I know."

"Amy! I resent the implication! Just because I spend time enjoying the simple pleasures of toys with my daughter does not mean I am a child!" He hoped it came out as mockingly shocked as he meant it to be. Looking over at her to make sure she smiled, he let out a breath as the edges of her mouth turned up slightly.

"No, you're right. Every girl should be so lucky as to have a father who loves to play with her as much as you do."

Oh, that isn't the mood he wanted to put Amy in at all. Sheldon reached over and gently brushed his fingers along the back of her hand on the steering wheel. She tilted her head briefly toward him, a subtle sign of her appreciation, before she asked softly, "And you, are you desiring further offspring?"

Sheldon looked down. "A little when I heard . . ." He looked back up. "It's my fault. I see that now. I wasted too much time at the beginning. If I had married you sooner, we could have had more children."

"I wish I weren't driving. There's something I want to look up on my Kindle."

"What?" Sheldon asked.

"Surely there was a quotation in there somewhere about living in the present and not regretting the past. I'm sure I highlighted it." She pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered the car into a spot.

Once the car was turned off, Sheldon reached out for her hand. "Are you sure you're content?"

Amy leaned forward and kissed him softly. "We're fine Sheldon. We'll just be the coolest aunt and uncle that a set of Irish twins have ever known."

"Page 147," Sheldon replied.

"What?"

"Page 147: 'I've seen my future; I can't change it, and I wouldn't if I could.' It's the quotation you were looking for."

Amy smiled. "Yes." She paused. "Do you think you've seen your future, Sheldon?"

He unhooked his seatbelt. "Let's go inside before we're late for our reservation."

It was a rare confluence of dates. There were a couple of times before that Book Club Night and Date Night had fallen on the same evening, but they had sometimes had to reschedule Date Night for some reason. Like the arrival of their daughter. Book Club Night, though, that was never rescheduled. It was strange now that he thought about it. Or perhaps perfectly obvious.

As with all the best restaurant recommendations, Sheldon had asked Raj. Dim lighting, hushed whispers, plush banquettes -

"It's wonderful, Sheldon!" Amy cooed.

Slightly embarrassed, Sheldon explained, "Raj recommended it. Besides, it's a special occasion. The confluence of dates."

Amy smiled broadly at him just as they were led to their table. Dinner was delicious and delightful. They talked, they ordered, they ate, they shared bites. Amy was intelligent, witty, sarcastic, strong, everything he loved about her. They discussed everything: work, hobbies, home. They had never officially banned discussion of domestic issues, although they had both learned how important it was to discuss other topics; so Christmas, specifically Santa Claus, was debated. Amy thought it was time to start this tradition, Sheldon thought it was perpetrating a myth to an impressionable future-scientist. Amy said it would undermine Ada's camaraderie with her peers to exclude this custom from her life, Sheldon said it would make her superior to her peers to have science on her side. In the end, Sheldon conceded that that Santa Claus was in, but Amy yielded that the Easter Bunny was firmly out.

"Would you care to see the dessert menu?" their waiter asked, removing their plates.

"Brownie, if they have one?" Sheldon asked, looking across the small table at his wife.

Amy shook her head and rubbed her arms, looking up at the waiter. "Do you have hot tea? Something without caffeine?"

"We have blackberry pomegranate green tea that is caffeine free," the server replied.

"We'll take two, please."

The waiter nodded and left.

"Blackberry pomegranate? Sounds like a hippy variety to me," Sheldon said. "Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?"

"No, thank you. I'm a little chilly without a cardigan, but the tea will fix it. Or I could put on my coat again. And I like the idea of blackberry pomegranate tea. It will be earthy, grounded. It seems apropos for Book Club. Just like Alba, a fortress, something to stay, something that won't move or shift." She paused and looked at him more intently. "You didn't answer the question, Sheldon. From earlier. About the book. About your future."

Sheldon liked to look at her, there, in the soft light. Her lips had a shimmer to them that meant she had applied lip gloss earlier, her emerald eyes inquisitive and sparkling. He loved how she had done that: effortlessly shifted into Book Club. The confluence of dates. He knew what she meant, of course. He thought, for a moment, about telling her the essential truth: it was sitting right in front of him. Amy, his wife, his companion in old age, something that wouldn't move or shift, his future. But, instead, he would tell her the obvious truth, the one he was certain she was expecting.

He shrugged. "I presume there will be a Nobel Prize. We're leaving one of the bookshelves empty for it."

"Next to mine," Amy smiled.

"That goes without saying."

Just at that moment the waiter returned with the fine white cups and a pot with tea bags already submerged. Sheldon would have preferred to let it steep himself, the correct way, but he let Amy pour him some anyway. The tea was not as dark as he expected, and, for some reason, he was disappointed. In unison, they both brought the cups to their lips to blow slightly on the liquid they contained.

"Sheldon," Amy said, "you're being quiet tonight."

Was he? He thought back over their evening meal. Hmmm, maybe. "It's the book," he answered honestly, looking down into his tea.

"Did you not like it?" Amy prodded.

"No. I mean, yes, I liked it. This doesn't make any sense, but I feel like I need another month just to comprehend it. And that worries me. I tried to map it out, the timelines. That didn't help."

"Did you know they're already online? Someone has already done them," Amy asked.

"What?"

"The timelines. One from Henry's point of view, one from Clare's."

"Oh." Sheldon shrugged. "It wasn't that I needed them to understand it. Or that they were difficult to map out. I just thought they would - It wasn't the timelines that seemed heavy to me." He stopped talking, unsure of how to explain it.

"Well . . . let's start at the beginning. Why did you chose it?" He always loved Amy's voice, but he loved it more than usual tonight. It seemed deeper. She was talking slowly, gently, leading him softly around those things that confused him.

"Because you mentioned it once. You said, in passing, that Steven Moffat had read it, and that it inspired him to write the character of River Song in  _Doctor Who_." He took a sip of his tea, now that it had cooled some. Amy was right; it tasted earthy. But sweet, too. He liked it.

Amy furrowed her brow. "I don't remember talking about River Song recently."

"No, this was years ago. Something made me recall it recently, though."

Her eyebrows went up slightly. "What's it like? Having an eidetic memory?"

"It just is. What's it like not having one?"

"Because, just now, the way you said that, it made me wonder if it can be a form of time travel. Does it ever become circular, like Henry says all his experiences do? You suddenly recall this thing I said years ago and it makes you do something different now, in the present?"

"Hmmmm. My first impulse was to say no, of course it's not time travel. It's not. But I don't know. I guess I just do whatever it was I was going to do. That tends to be my modus operandi." He paused and took another drink. "I have a feeling we could get very philosophical about this book. Philosophy is not my forte, you know."

Amy had leaned forward, her chin resting on her palm. She seemed so relaxed and happy tonight. It was making him happy. It suddenly occurred to him that Amy never used to sit like that. When had she started? He began to flip through his memories, all the memories of past Date Nights with her. Amy, his girl-slash-friend, his girlfriend, his bride, his past.

"Okay, no philosophy," Amy said. "Did you find it very similar to River and the Doctor?"

"Yes and no. The inspiration is clear. Meeting at different points in time, one of the characters having a memory that the other one has not had yet. Clare knows that Henry is her husband when she first meets him because she already knows him. But he doesn't. That's like  _Doctor Who._  And there is a notebook of sorts; the list of dates Henry gives Clare. But Clare and River are nothing alike. I never got the impression that River was waiting."

"You didn't?" Amy brought her head up off of her hand in surprise. "She waits all the time. It's what makes her so tragic."

"I mean she has her own life, her own adventures, and I never got the feeling that Clare did. I didn't think River was tragic."

"It was a different situation. I thought they were nothing alike in personality. I think that's why you never thought River was tragic, because she was controlling her own destiny. She was a much stronger woman than Clare. I enjoyed that. But always waiting for the one you love? That's tragic . . . " Amy trailed away, taking a drink of tea. "What about the science? That's not philosophical. You've always liked the idea of parallel universes and this book explicitly states that they don't exist."

"Everett's theory, no matter how much I might like it, is still just a theory. And there is an equally strong voice in physics that Einstein's theory of general relativity precludes parallel universes because all of his equations have only one solution."

"And it's the only way we actually know that time works. As a non-physicist, I think it's easier to comprehend what you know," Amy offered.

"There's that. And Henry never travels back before his own conception."

"Because if you think about time and space in a tunnel as Einstein postulated, curving but not meeting, you've got to have a beginning and an end?" Amy asked, taking another drink. "I really like this. We need to go to that tea shop we like and find some."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows slightly. Oh, how he loved this woman. For the physics, for the tea. "Exactly. Which is actually why the TARDIS would never work."

"Nobody is watching  _Doctor Who_  for the science, Sheldon," Amy smiled.

"Speak for yourself," Sheldon mumbled. "Did you want Henry or Clare to change the future?"

Amy screwed up her lips and titled her head. "I'm not sure. I don't know what they would have changed, honestly. I thought it was a nice touch, when he had her change the bottom of the drawing to see what would happen. I like the way the book dealt with the grandfather paradox."

"Yes, I wonder if the author had read any of Novikov's work."

"I was thinking of the letter Henry wrote to Clare." She reached into her purse and pulled out her Kindle. He loved that, too, that she carried it with her and pulled it out at a fancy restaurant, just to make a point. "'I won't tell you any more, so you can imagine it, so you can have it unrehearsed when the time comes, as it will, as it does come.' They wouldn't have changed anything."

"What do you think of the idea that some events, some people, some places, hold more power - gravity is the word Henry uses - and we're forever drawn back to them?"

"I completely agree with that. There are moments that are pivotal in everyone's life. Moving, going to a new school, marriage, the birth of a child."

"No, that's not what I meant," Sheldon shook his head. "That's true, but I meant . . . Henry keeps going back to the meadow, to Clare. But, with a couple of exceptions, nothing of importance happens there. They just talk."

"Because she is his destiny. Henry tells her that, too, that their love has more density than either one of them alone." She paused, and then Sheldon saw the flash of an idea in her brain. He loved that look. "Remember when he talks about the first time he traveled, as a child?"

"Of course."

"Even before he travels . . . " her fingers were on her Kindle once again, " . . . he says, 'It would fill me with a feeling, a feeling I later tried to duplicate with alcohol and finally found again with Clare, a feeling of unity, oblivion, mindlessness in the best sense of the word.' The meadow are moments. Just being together, of peace, nothing exciting, just . . . being. There are some later on, of course, about playing games and reading the newspaper. But the meadow has become - or will become, it's complex - a fixed moment in space-time in which they can just sit and talk and be together. It's like - no, never mind." Amy shook her head.

"Go on. We've already become philosophical." He did not add that he had thought of it already, he had been waiting for it to come up, he had been counting on it.

"No, it's silly." She still objected to saying it, putting her head down to pretend to study her empty cup of tea.

"It's like Book Club," Sheldon whispered.

Amy looked at him, her eyes wide and bright behind her glasses.  _I've pleased her._  "Who's being philosophical now?" she asked, joy in her voice.

"You bring out the worst in me." Sheldon smiled, wishing she were close enough he could kiss her softly, even here in a restaurant.

There was a pause, both of them smiling, and then Amy asked, abruptly, "What did you think when Henry said it would have been a better story if Lois Lane knew Clark Kent was Superman all along? I thought of you when I read that part, and I'm surprised you haven't mentioned it."

"I'm not sure. I had never thought about it before. But you clearly agree."

Amy tilted her head. "Actually, I don't know. It may depend on the situation. That woman in  _Thor_  is just annoying and in the way, so I don't really care much about her."

Sheldon chuckled. He loved that, too. "But isn't that why you like  _Agent Carter_  so much? Because it's about Captain America's girlfriend?"

"No, I like Agent Carter because she's a sassy woman whose superpower is her intelligence."

Sheldon raised an eyebrow, wondering if Amy realized she had just described herself. "Did you ever want to time travel? Like this or like River Song? You seem quite taken with the idea."

"Not like this. I would want control over it. If I were to time travel, I would want a machine, so I could bring clothes and other supplies. Then it might be fun. And I would want to travel outside of my own time-line. And I'd want to do it with you. If we were traveling together, it would be an adventure."

"You want to time travel with me?"

"Who else would I ever want to time travel with? Think how much fun it would be! We'd have a machine with a seat built for two, and we could plan our adventures. We'd pick out a time period one of us was especially interested in and we'd get costumes and we'd go." Her eyes were shining brightly with the idea.

"Adventures?" She had said that word twice now, and it struck Sheldon as such a youthful word suddenly. Like they would be in the pages of some comic book or short story, reality left behind.

"Yes, adventures. Of course, you would start it, work on the equations, build the perfect machine, maybe even take the first journey alone. Then you'd ask me to join you, you'd give me your hand when I stepped inside. Then I would be the time traveler's wife. We'd have fabulous time traveling adventures!"

The truth was the book had made Sheldon very melancholy. A new sort of melancholy, the type he actually didn't want to think about too deeply. A melancholy about getting older, a melancholy about his child growing up, a melancholy of how short of a time he had had with Amy. But it was gone now, thanks to Amy's spirit, her imagination, this silly little story she was weaving for them. He loved it all. He grinned at her foolishly, abandoning himself to her joy.

The check came then, and Book Club was interrupted. His lady was on his arm as they walked back out to the car, and he took her hand and squeezed it.

He did not ask what would happen if, instead of a time machine, he had a time traveling disease like Henry. If he could take nothing, no other person, only his own naked body along with him in time; would she have married him anyway, would she sit at home and wait, longingly, for him, even though she found it tragic? He knew that she would. That knowledge was both immensely humbling and profoundly sad.

But Sheldon did not dwell on that thought, Amy's infectious happiness and joy keeping it at bay. Instead, as they drove back to the Wolowitz's to get Ada, he dwelt on what she said, about taking his hand. Yes, he preferred to imagine it her way. He could even see it in his mind, this other version of themselves. He was standing with a time machine, perhaps something silver and sleek, shimmering as it was ready to depart. One foot would be inside, in his past, one foot would still be on the ground just outside the door, in the present. He would put out his hand toward her, toward his future. She would probably be surprised, frightened, trepidatious. But she would take his hand and follow him. Of course she would. It would be an adventure.


	69. The Time Traveler's Wife (AD)

**The Time Traveler's Wife**

* * *

_He preferred to imagine it her way. He could even see it in his mind, this other version of themselves. He was standing with a time machine, perhaps something silver and sleek, shimmering as it was ready to depart. One foot would be inside, in his past, one foot would still be on the ground just outside the door, in the present. He would put out his hand toward her, toward his future. She would probably be surprised, frightened, trepidatious. But she would take his hand and follow him. Of course she would. It would be an adventure._

* * *

He kissed her cheek gently, then her temple. "I did want you. Almost as much as I want you right now." His kissed her earlobe, and then, without warning, Amelia felt a surge course through her as Cooper's mouth surrounded it, his tongue swirling.

"Hoooooot." Her back arched and she could feel Cooper's lips turn up in a smile, the little sound he gave out, even though he didn't stop what he was doing. His hand, which had been holding her cheek, started to meander slowly down her neck, slipping under the very edge of blankets, resting on the bare skin of her chest, just above the scandalously low neckline of the flimsy nightgown.

He stopped. "You're trembling."

Amelia didn't know if she was trembling from fear or desire or a mixture of both. The feel of his breath in her ear, his hot palm on her décolletage, goose bumps rising on her flesh, the pulsing deep within her. It felt so overwhelming, and all of these sensations were only heightened by his declaration of craving for her. She was craving him, too, in every sense of the word. She had been craving him for as long as she could remember, long before she knew him.

She turned her head to gaze upon his beautiful porcelain skin. "I want you, too. Then. And now. I'm just - it's overwhelming."

"Amelia," he whispered softly, his lips barely grazing hers once more, "please don't be frightened. I love you, and I only want to make you feel good. Let yourself be overwhelmed. I want you to think of the place you love the most on Earth, a place where time feels meaningless. I want to you shut your eyes and think of that place. And then I want to take you there. Just me, just us, no time machine. I want to be there with you. Will you let me take you there?"

Her heart ached at the palpable love in his voice. She looked into his beautiful blue eyes and knew, as she had known for so long, that she as never safer than with him. Amelia nodded and closed her eyes. She felt his soft, nimble hand slip slowly beneath to neckline of her nightgown. She exhaled softly and thought of the place she loved the most.

Cooper slowly traced every edge and plain of her face with his lips. Amelia relaxed into his touch, only to arch off the bed again when his fingertips made contact with one of her nipples. She had not expected that, not really. But this must have been the touching anywhere that Penelope had warned her about.

"Does that feel good?" he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, yes," she exhaled softly. Then Cooper kissed her again, firmer this time, not waiting very long before his tongue asked for access to her mouth. She gave it freely, swirling in the sensations of his kiss and the soft flicks and caresses of her breast.

He broke awake suddenly. "Amelia, can we take off this silly little nightgown?"

"But Penelope said you would like it."

Cooper started to pull the blankets down. "First of all, don't ever say her name in this bed again. And, secondly," the blankets were gone now, the cooler air rushing over Amelia's skin, "I like it very much." Amelia saw Cooper's eyes rake down and then back up her body, back to her face. "You're so beautiful."

Certain she was blushing down to the tips of her toes, Amelia dared to ask, "Did you peek? That night I took the bath?"

"Uh-huh, I won't tell. A hero never tells," he said with a grin. He gently grabbed the hem of the negligee, which was scandalously high upon her thigh, and started to lift it up. Amelia sat up, and let him slowly raise it over and past her outstretched arms.

"Much better," he whispered, tossing it aside and pushing her back with another hungry kiss. Then his lips started to trail down her neck and across her collarbones. She felt like her skin was on fire. As his lips continued their slow decent, they started to veer toward one side and crossed the edge of her breast.

"Are you going to kiss me there?" Amelia asked.

She heard a chuckle. "I'm going to kiss you in places you've never imagined being kissed before." But then he stopped, and she looked down to meet his eyes. "Amelia, I want you to tell me if you don't like something. That's very important. But remember what I said: let me overwhelm you."

Amelia nodded to him and put her head back on the pillow. She took another soft breath and closed her eyes again. The slow parade of kisses continued a bit more until something hot and wet ripped through her senses.

"Oh, God," she murmured, and then slapped her hand over her month, embarrassed both by her outburst and her cursing. Cooper's hand gently pulled it away. His mouth left her nipple, and the cold air upon the wet surface was almost as breathtaking as his tongue there had been.

"I want to hear you," he whispered before putting his head down again and continued what he was doing. Her body seemed to have a will of its own, and she found her lungs heaving and her back raising on the bed. It only became more pronounced as Cooper's mouth progressed further down her stomach. He started to push her legs apart, and her heartbeat increased.

"Cooper, what - What! Oh, my God!" The last cognizant thought she had was, 'No,  _this_  had to be what Penelope was talking about.'

It was indescribable. She both wanted to fight it and welcome it with open arms. He had found this secret spot that she did not know she even possessed until recently, during a certain bath. But this was nothing like the bath. This was the bath amplified beyond her imagination. He was lapping at her like a gentle tide, but it was growing stronger every second. She felt what could only be described as a tightening sensation, in her neck, in her stomach, in legs, and especially . . . well, there. Even the soles of her feet started to tingle. And then, suddenly, after a second of stillness it felt like she had been thrown into the ocean, a hot, rushing ocean of pleasure. She had been reduced to pure sensation. She thought maybe she was screaming and shuddering, somewhere far away from the bliss.

He had waited quietly, coming back up to hold her, until the shivering died away. "Did you find that pleasurable? Did it overwhelm you?"

"I didn't know it was possible. Not like that," Amelia answered, turning slightly to look at him. She felt like she was in a daze.

Cooper kissed her, and she felt his fingers slip in to her private space once more. "Are you going to do again?" she breathed into the kiss.

Smiling as his lips pulled away, Cooper said. "I would do it a thousand times if I thought either one of us could withstand it." His smile faded slightly. "Amelia, I want to put my fingers inside of you. I don't want to frighten you."

"Oh," Amelia said softly. She was well beyond being surprised by anything Cooper was doing to her.

Then she felt him invade her. It felt . . . odd. She flinched.

"Am I hurting you?" Cooper asked.

"No. It just feels . . . strange."

His finger started to move within her, further in and then back out. "How is that?"

"It's . . . strange."

Then his hand moved slightly, and she was aware that he had added another finger. "Is that better?"

"It's . . . uh . . . fine."

"I aim for better than fine."

This time when he pulled his fingers out, Amelia had the new sensation that he was pressing on her somewhere, deep inside, somewhere near the front of her. He repeated the action, the in motion, the pressing movement out.

"Ohhhh," she exhaled.

"Good?" he whispered in her ear.

It was getting better by the second. There was a spot there that when he slid and pressed against it felt amazing. "Very good."

The spiraling, the tightness, it was starting again, but not exactly the same. Just as she realized it might happen again, he suddenly pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry, Amelia. Looking at you, hearing you you make all those sounds . . . I'm going to put the condom on now. Remember, we talked about this?"

Amelia nodded and watched him turn away, toward the side of the bed, his back to her. She heard the ripping of the package. What was he apologizing for? Should she ask? Before she could work up the courage, there was a flash of movement, and Cooper was over her, resting on his elbows, his slim body between her legs. She had never seen him move so quickly before.

"Amelia? I'll try to be as gentle as I can. I promise. Try to breathe out slowly."

Her heart hammering in her chest, she forced herself to release the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. His reached down between then and then she felt a strong pushing sensation. She couldn't believe how deeply he was pushing into her. There was some burning, yes, but it was not nearly as painful as she had expected. Despite that, she couldn't help but let out a surprised, "Oh!"

"I'm sorry," Cooper whispered, kissing her cheek. "Are you alright?"

The way he was looking down at her, concern etched on his face, his pupils large, the bright blue rings surrounding them . . . Amelia was better than alright. She placed a hand softly upon his shoulder. "I'm . . . well. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be be."

He smiled and it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen on his face. Then she saw his shoulders flex as he pulled out, slowly, and then moved back in to where he had been. "Good?"

"Yes."

"Actually," another slow movement, "I want even better than good." He brought his hand down again, to touch her again. She jerked at the touch. "Too sensitive?" he asked.

"No. I mean, I don't think so. I just didn't expect that."

His only reply was that smile, again, and then he started stroking her there, matching each stroke with the movement inside of her. This time, she could see him, above her, watching her, when the whirling sensation started again. She was able to focus on him, the way he was looking at her, how heavy he was panting, how his muscles flexed and tensed in his arm and his shoulder. She concentrated on his eyes, which he occasionally squeezed shut, and she was able to remember what he had said, about a place where time was meaningless. It was here, it was now. It was her, it was him, it was this feeling, this mixing of their bodies and their souls, staring deeply into his eyes, feeling her body respond to him. They could go anywhere, anywhen, but a part of them would always be in this time, this juncture, this season, this epoch. Here, they were together, ageless and forever loved. Then infinity came rushing at Amelia again, just as Cooper let out deep groan that sounded like her name.

* * *

Amy jerked with a gasp, her breath coming in sharp pants, her leg flinging out to kick her sleeping husband. Fully awake, her body fully aroused, she put her hand to her chest, her heart thumping within.

Sheldon's eyes popped open and almost immediately he spoke, lifting his head from his pillow, sounding concerned, "Amy? Nightmare?"

She shook her head. "No. A sex dream."

"Mmmmmm," Sheldon relaxed and put an arm out to pull her in closer. "I presume I excelled, as usual," he murmured, shutting his eyes again.

"It wasn't you," Amy answered.

"What?" He was completely awake now. "Was it Thor? I always knew he was trouble."

"No, it wasn't Thor." Amy smiled. "But it wasn't me, either, not really. I had the strangest dream. It was me, but my name was Amelia; and it was you, but you were a time traveling physicist. I was a virgin, and you were experienced. I dreamt it was our first time together, that you were sharing your sexual knowledge with me."

Sheldon's eyebrows raised. "Again, was I any good? Did I use my knowledge for the betterment of womankind?"

Amy chuckled. "Maybe."

"Mmmmm." He closed his eyes with a satisfied sound.

Amy snuggled in closer to him, his arm still slung around her shoulders, and took a deep breath of him. She looked at his profile, his eyes closed, in the darkness of midnight. What a strange dream it had been. There was no denying it had been thrilling, both physically and emotionally. It was the beginning of something, and here she was, snuggled warmly in the middle of something else. Her adventure had been different than that other-self; she and Sheldon had learned everything together, but it was no less of an adventure.

"Sheldon?" she whispered.

"Hmmmm?" he opened his eyes.

"I love you. I wouldn't trade you, this, everything we've had together for all the adventures in the world."

"I love you, too." This time it was not a sleep mumble, it was hot breath in her ear. "Tell me all about it. The dream. I want to know every minute detail. And visual aids are essential to a thorough understanding."

"Sheldon Cooper!" Amy giggled, enjoying the feel of his hand running along her rib cage as he rolled toward her. "Are you trying to get into my time machine for a second time tonight?"

"It must be a time warp. Oh, Amelia, let's repeat history!" he said just before he silenced her laugh with a deep kiss.

* * *

_**Surprise! Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	70. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

**_A very special thank you to ScienceGeekMom, who suggested this book which was both difficult and important, as is often true in life._ **

**_And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2020**

**Primary Topic: _The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time_ by Mark Haddon**

* * *

Sheldon reached for a clean sheet of paper and drew something in the center. "Okay, what's this shape?"

"Semicircle," Ada answered, sitting in her pajamas on his lap at the dining table.

"Correct."

He drew again, his nimble hands moving deftly over the paper. "And this one?"

"Cupcake."

"No, it's a trapezoid, remember? We learned it last week." Then he cocked his head. "But how observant you are, Miss Ada. A semicircle over that particular quadrilateral  _does_ resemble a cupcake. Let's try this one. It's easy. Just this one part, not the whole thing."

"A rectangle!"

"Correct. Let's draw a new one. This is difficult. It's a fractal shape. But not all fractals are this shape. It's called a paisley. Paisley, after a town in Scotland."

"Paisley."

"Yes. Now look at the whole image. What does it look like? What type of cupcake?"

"Birthday cupcake!"

"Exactly. And whose birthday is tomorrow?"

"Me!" Ada squealed.

"Mine. If the question is possessive, your answer should possessive also. But, yes," he kissed the top of her head, "it's your birthday tomorrow."

"Are you teaching the dreaded humanities now, too?" Amy asked from behind her harp, which she had stopping playing moments ago to sit back and enjoy this little session playing out near her.

Sheldon looked at her over their daughter's head and smiled. "It appears I am."

Amy smiled back as she stood. "Come on, Ada, it's time for bed."

"No!" Ada shook her head.

"Ada Fowler Cooper," Sheldon's voice deepened as he scooted away from the table, "do not sass your mother. You will do as she says." He lifted her up off of his lap and stood her on the ground.

"Noooo, I don't wanna go to bed! I wanna draw more!"

"Enunciate. Want to, Ada; wanna is not a word used by intelligent people," Sheldon said.

Amy screwed up her face and tried to give Sheldon a look that conveyed, 'Really? That's what you're concerned about right now?'

But it was too late. It was as if the gates of hell opened, and their normally happy child was replaced by a demon. "No! No! No! I don't wanna! Wanna! Wanna!" Ada stomped her foot with each purposely unenunciated word and then threw herself facedown on the floor, literally thumping her legs and arms. Amy had always thought this type of tantrum was the stuff of legend, a stereotype but not an actual behavior. But she and Sheldon had been living with this tyrant formally known as Ada for a little over a month now. The horror of it never lessened, and the only thing Amy dreaded more than the actual tantrum was the look on Sheldon's face. Somedays she feared he was going to lie down right next to her and start his own paroxysm. Frenzied perusals of every parenting website and book published ensued. They all agreed: stay calm, do not negotiate or give in to demands, if the child is not endangering herself or others then ignoring it is the best option. However, there were no websites on how to handle your husband during such an ordeal. Sheldon attempting to ignore the fit was like living with a caged tiger.

Amy met Sheldon's wide eyes and she shrugged. What could she say? Sheldon crossed his arms and watched as Ada continued to scream and pound at his feet, and Amy could swear she could see his back and neck muscles tighten. He was thumping the index finger of his right hand on the upper part of his left arm at an ever increasing speed.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he leaned down to swoop Ada up and carried her, still kicking and screaming down the hall. Amy gasped in shock. The ear-splitting howls got quieter, but probably because they were only getting further away; she heard the rumble of Sheldon's voice, and then the door to Ada's bedroom shut. Amy took a couple of tentative steps into the living room, when Sheldon rounded the corner from the hallway.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I decided I've had enough. Ignoring is not working. She needs to learn her actions have consequences. I told her that if she cannot control herself, then she can go to bed alone without a story." He had started his explanation with surety, but his voice shrank as he continued talking. By the time he shrugged at the end, it was a resigned shrug.

"Sheldon, you -" she stopped. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that while some guides did suggest taking the child to a quiet room, they also said that a parent should stay and sit quietly with the child to illustrate how to be calm and to reassure the child they weren't being left. But . . . "I'm not sure that was the best way to handle it," she said weakly.

"Me neither," Sheldon answered quietly. He lifted up the object in his hand. "I brought the monitor from our bedroom so we can hear her."

"Well, it's done now. And maybe it will work. I was often sent to my room to cry alone," Amy said as he turned on the monitor but adjusted the volume low, so the only sounds were of distant weeping. Despite what she had just said, Amy almost lost her determination and went running to Ada.

Sheldon nodded. "Me, too. My options were, and I quote, 'Go to your room and cry or stay here and I'll give you something real to cry about.'"

Amy titled her head. "When you put it that way, perhaps this does seem like the more enlightened approach." She took a deep breath and listened. "And it already seems to be quieter, which is a good sign."

She moved to the kitchen and put her index finger on the top of one of the naked cupcakes cooling on the rack. Then she went to the pantry to get out the icing and the sprinkles before rummaging in one of the drawers to find the icing spatula.

"Amy, what are you doing?" Sheldon asked.

"I need to ice these cupcakes for Ada's birthday tomorrow. The mini ones go to school with her in the morning and the larger ones are for our friends after dinner. I'm concerned about how these mini gluten-free and dairy-free ones will taste; they look funny. Maybe we should try one."

"I'm not eating one of those. That's disgusting," he replied. There was pause. "It's Book Club Night."

"Oh." Amy applied herself diligently to the task of stirring the icing. Vanilla for school, as chocolate was also on the daycare's allergy list, but fudge flavored for adults.

"Amy?" Sheldon said softly.

She shook her head. "We don't have to. Obviously you didn't realize what it was about when you picked it. You must have assumed from the title that it was an ode to Sherlock Holmes. It's fine, I understand."

"No, I knew. I want to talk about it."

Amy looked up sharply at Sheldon standing on the other side of the island. Her brilliant, handsome, wonderful husband. Whom she loved without measure, faults and all, for exactly who he was. She whispered, "Okay. Do you mind if I do this while we talk?"

Sheldon shook his head. "Do you want some help?"

"No, I think . . . "  _I want something to do with my hands, something to keep me busy._  But she didn't say that. Maybe he understood, anyway, because he nodded and sat down on the opposite side of the island.

Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the occasional half-cry from Ada. The type of crying she did when was trying to cry, even though she didn't really have it in her anymore. She would be asleep soon. Finally, Sheldon coughed slightly and quoted, "'I think prime numbers are like life. They are very logical but you could never work out the rules, even if you spent all your time thinking about them.'"

"Is that why you like them so much?" Amy asked.

"I never thought of it that way before, but maybe." He paused. "I don't think it's a quotation about prime numbers; it's a quotation about life."

Amy sighed softly. All the years of Book Club had paid off, and now Sheldon was exactly the kind of reader she wanted him to be. But tonight it made her sad. "I know."

"Did you like this book?" Sheldon asked.

She glanced up at him. "No. I respected this book a great deal. But I did not like it."

"Expound."

"I respected it because it was successful at what it was trying to achieve. Because it was one of the first books to try and achieve that. Because it was trying to teach the world something, to help people better understand what it is like inside the mind of those with autism. Because it makes the reader think and feel along with Christopher, his confusion, his pain, everything. But I did not like reading it. It made me feel uncomfortable and . . . sad." Amy's eyes had not left the cupcake which she was icing with extreme concentration. She was purposely focusing on the task at hand, keeping her eyes, her hands, and hopefully her voice, steady. Because this simple task was something she could explain.

"Sad for Christopher?" Sheldon asked.

"Of course. Who else would I be sad for?" No sooner had the words left her mouth, then Amy wanted to grab them and pull them back.

"Me," Sheldon answered calmly.

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy put her hands down on the counter and finally looked over at him. There was a painful burning in her chest. "Not you. Never you. You are not Christopher. Why did you pick this book?"

"Because I wanted to be sure," Sheldon answered, breaking the gaze to look down at the countertop.

Amy rubbed her forehead slightly, not even realizing that she smeared icing on it. She thought she knew the answer to what she was about to ask, but she also knew that this was important to Sheldon. "Why now? And why this way, with a book? If you wanted to be sure about yourself, you could have scheduled the tests and evaluations yourself."

"Because of Ada. She's turning two tomorrow. And the tantrums frighten me; maybe she's not handling her emotions properly. Or empathizing correctly. I know we created the schedule, but do you ever worry she likes it too much? The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says that it's possible to get a reliable autism spectrum diagnosis at age two. And because you sometimes respond better to suggestions when they're in a book."

Despite the more obvious things that needed to be said, Amy couldn't help but raise her eyebrows in surprise.  _Is that true? Does Sheldon pick books because I respond better to them than to his suggestions?_ She shook her head. That was a conversation for another time. "She's a toddler, Sheldon, she will have tantrums. It's not called the terrible twos for nothing. I don't like them either. Don't worry about the schedule; didn't she just have a tantrum about not wanting to follow the schedule?" She took a very deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Sheldon?" Amy asked softly this time. "Is this your way of suggesting that we have Ada tested? Would you feel better if you had a quantifiable statement?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I thought I would know, but I don't. And you don't want to have her tested."

"No, I don't. It's what I've told you before. All I want for both you and Ada is for you to be happy and to know that your are loved unequivocally for exactly who you are, for being exactly the way you. Ada displays none of the early signs of autism. I'm not concerned at all. Her speech and vocabulary skills are highly advanced for her age, she interacts well with others - she adores Jacob and follows him around like a puppy - she enjoys and returns physical displays of affection. I could go on for hours. However, if having some sort of . . . affirmation . . . one way or other puts your mind at rest once and for all, I'm willing to consider it."

"Can I think about it? I'm not sure. And I'm used to being sure."

Amy smiled sadly at him. "Okay."

"It's just so unsettling to think that our little girl's life could go in two radically different directions. She could be a genius or she could be like me . . ."

"Or she could be an average, normally happy person. Let's not forget that. Or ever make her think that is a less than desired outcome," Amy warned. She sighed deeply and softened her voice. "And please don't say 'like you' as though that's a bad thing. There is nothing wrong with you. No, you aren't perfect; no one is. But you are a wonderful man, the best husband I could ever hope for and an outstanding father. And a genius."

She picked up another cupcake and started her chore again, wondering and hoping if that would be the end of it. One of the things she loved about Sheldon was his egotism. She understood that others may consider that trait an unusual thing to love in another. But Sheldon wore his intelligence like a suit of armor, and it was that surety of his acumen that she found so alluring. On him, it really did shine. She loved his brain most of all, and it was as though he was always putting it on display for her, for the world. He had it and he was flaunting it. But almost nothing broke her heart more than when there was a crack in that armor.

"I love you, too," Sheldon said.

Amy looked up at him, surprised, but then grinned.

"But I wasn't always this superb man you see before you," he continued. "Can we talk about the book? I'd like to."

"Okay. What was your favorite part?"

"Of course all the math and science problems. And the references to science fiction. I liked that Christopher wanted to be a physicist. I understood him when he said his mind was like a machine, and that sometimes there is just too much information coming into your head from the outside world and that can clog up the machine. Do you feel like your mind is a machine?"

Relieved to be back on what seemed to be normal Book Club ground, Amy said, "I never thought of it that way before. It's hard for me to think of anyone's mind as a machine, because I know how it works. But if I had to pick a common example, I would say it's more like a water wheel. It's in constant motion, picking up idea, turning them around, using them to create energy." She paused. "In the book, Christopher says his mind is a like a bread slicing machine on a straight conveyer belt, constantly cutting off equal size pieces, never varying. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Exactly my point. The brain isn't like that at all, that simple. It's much more complex."

Sheldon sighed. "I know that, but the point is how he feels when the machine clogs up. Overwhelmed and frightened."

Finishing with icing, Amy took a spoon out of the drawer and took a couple of bites from the almost-empty container. Sheldon raised his eyebrows.

"Don't judge," Amy said. "I find I desperately need chocolate at this moment."

He wagged his head but said, "Did I ever tell you what my earliest memory is?"

"I don't think so. Or at least not that it was your earliest memory." Amy put the icing away and opened the jar of sprinkles.

"I had a chalk-board on an easel, and I had just finished an algebra equation when George erased it all. He and Missy were laughing at me and calling me names. I wrapped my arms over my ears, and I started to rock in place. I was humming the  _Spider-Man_  theme song. I remember that it made me feel better, rocking and humming."

Amy stopped, her hand in mid-air over a cupcake, covering it with far too many sprinkles. She looked over at Sheldon, and he was looking down at the island. It wasn't the story that surprised her; she had actually seen him rock in place before, right after he found out MeeMaw died and a few times after Ada was born. But she never knew he was aware of his actions. She put the jar down with a bang and walked around the island. She wrapped her arms around Sheldon's shoulders and pulled him in tight, resting her chin on his shoulder, her mouth close to his ear.

"Sheldon, do you feel this? Me hugging you?"

"Yes, and it's a little snug for comfort."

She squeezed even tighter. "The little boy who needed to rock and hum for comfort grew up to be the man that lets me do this. He grew up to be a leader in his field, highly respected by his peers. He grew up to have a large social group that gathers at least once a week. He grew up to be a husband and a father. So whatever condition that little boy may have had, the man has me."

Amy kept squeezing until Sheldon nodded. She let him go but remained standing next to him. He looked over at her, their heights almost the same since he was sitting on the stool.

"I won't pretend that I understand everything you're thinking. We did not have the same childhoods," Amy said. "But I think I know you well enough to know there was a quote of Christopher's that scared you: 'Life isn't like math, because in life there are no straightforward answers at the end.' Right?"

Sheldon nodded.

"But remember what else he said, that just because something is a mystery that it doesn't mean there isn't an answer. It's just that scientists haven't found the answer yet. And he also said that some things aren't interesting because they're new or because you know the answer, but just because because it's interesting to think about them. Which I took to mean that the unknown, the unanswered things are actually the most interesting. Life is about the journey. Yes, there are all these unknowns in front of you that you'll have to sort through, but you shouldn't lose sight of the importance of the sorting."

Sheldon leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You're the wisest person I know."

"Of course I am."

Then he picked up the towel Amy had sat down earlier and used the corner to wipe the icing from her forehead. "But do you understand why I wanted to read it? I wanted to know, I wanted to be sure. But it didn't make me sure. I know you're right, but it's hard to not be sure." He set the towel down and licked his lips slightly. "Do you mind if I go read alone in bed? I think I need some quiet. I'll check on Ada, too."

Amy tilted her head softly. She stepped away and watched Sheldon get up and go to the bookcase and studiously search for the comic book he wanted and then walk down the hallway. Only after he was gone did she allow the tears that she had been holding in to flow down her cheeks.

* * *

The tears were dried, the cupcakes were packed, and the dishes were either washed or put in the dishwasher. Amy took a last look around the great room to make sure everything was clean and in order for the usual Friday night gathering the next day. She considered returning to her harp - she still hadn't worked her way through all the sheet music Sheldon bought her Christmas - but she didn't want the sound to disturb Sheldon. Maybe he wouldn't mind if she read silently next to him. She tapped her watch and instructed Siri to put the network to sleep for the night. Grabbing her Kindle, she turned off the last light and turned to go down the hallway toward the soft glow coming from the bedroom.

She was surprised to see Sheldon standing in Ada's open doorway. She came up to him and looked into the darkened room with him, Ada sound asleep in her new 'big girl bed.'

"I thought you were reading," Amy whispered.

"I was going to, but I thought I ought to check on Ada. She had fallen asleep on top of the blankets. She didn't even wake up when I covered her," he whispered back.

"Have you been here the whole time, watching her? It's been over an hour."

"Has it? I must have been lost in my own thoughts."

Amy slid her arm around Sheldon's waist. He reached over to pull her in closer by her shoulders. They watched Ada sleeping for a moment.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered. "I'm sure. We're not like that."

"I know." She tugged at him. "Come on, let's go to bed."

He nodded and let go of her to reach over and pull Ada's door shut. They crossed the hallway and shut their own bedroom door behind them.


	71. Big Girl

**Big Girl**

* * *

_Suddenly, unexpectedly, he leaned down to swoop Ada up and carried her, still kicking and screaming down the hall. Amy gasped in shock. The ear-splitting howls got quieter, but probably because they were only getting further away; she heard the rumble of Sheldon's ice, and then the door to Ada's bedroom shut. Amy took a couple of tentative steps into the living room, when Sheldon rounded the corner from the hallway._

_"What was that?" she asked._

_"I decided I've had enough. Ignoring is not working. She needs to learn her actions have consequences. I told her that if she cannot control herself, then she can go to bed alone without a story." He had started his explanation with surety, but his voice shrank as he continued talking. By the time he shrugged at the end, it was a resigned shrug._

* * *

She didn't understand. She was having fun doing shapes with Daddy. She loved shapes with Daddy. Why did she have to stop and go to bed? She wasn't tired. Shapes with Daddy was more fun. She just wanted Mama and Daddy to understand how much she'd rather do shapes. But then Daddy had picked her up and carried her to bed. He told her that if she could not control herself, then she could go to bed alone without a story. But she loved the stories! They were her favorite! Why couldn't she have both shapes with Daddy and stories? It was too hard to ask when she was crying. Daddy said controlling herself meant not screaming and crying and kicking, but using her words. If she used her words, Mama and Daddy would understand her. He said Mama and Daddy didn't speak screaming. Then he said he was leaving her alone to think.

Ada didn't mean to make Daddy unhappy. She always knew when Daddy was unhappy. He had an unhappy voice, deeper than usual. Mama frowned when she was unhappy, but sometimes she tried to hide it, so it was harder to tell.

Maybe Daddy was unhappy because of The Schedule. Daddy loved The Schedule. The Schedule had Always Been. Ada did not understand why, but she usually liked The Schedule, too. The Schedule felt comfortable, like her favorite shirt with the unicorn on it. The Schedule was rhythmic. The Schedule helped her fall asleep. The Schedule reassured her that food was coming. But The Schedule said there would be a story. The story was the best part of the day.

Right now, the story was long. It was about a girl named Laura who lived in a little house in a big woods. The story did not end before bed. Mama said it was a chapter story, one of her favorites. Ada almost cried the first night, because she didn't understand, because she wanted the end of the story. But Mama said no, there would be one chapter each night. Then Daddy came in his unhappy voice and told her not to whine, it would teach her patience. Ada repeated the word, "patience," because she didn't understand it and she wanted Daddy to talk about it. She liked it when Daddy talked about things. Then Mama and Daddy had smiled but it was that smile they only smiled at each other. Then Daddy had said patience was endurance under difficult circumstances. She wasn't sure what that meant either, but Daddy's unhappy voice was gone as he kept talking and she was so very sleepy . . .

Ada wanted to know what happened to the girl named Laura. They had just killed a pig to eat it. Ada already knew about that because at school they had talked about farms and they sang a song about Old McDonald Had a Farm. In school, her teacher still read them books with pictures. Laura's story only had a few pictures. Ada liked Laura's story but she wanted it to have pictures, too. Her favorite books were when the words and the pictures were one.

Daddy took her to see where Uncle Stuart worked sometimes. Daddy said work was like school for grown-ups. There were books there, but not like the books Mama read to her. In these books the words and the pictures were one. Daddy liked those books, and he read them to her sometimes. He even bought her own book like that. But why weren't the pictures and the words always one?

This was very confusing to Ada. Jacob told her books with pictures were for babies. But Daddy liked books with pictures. Why couldn't she like them too? Jacob was fun, and she liked to play with him. But sometimes he was mean and told her she was a baby. But she knew what a baby was, a baby was like Fenny or Lucy. She wasn't a baby. She knew she wasn't a baby because Mama had said once she used the potty all the time, even if she woke up in the middle of the night, she would be a big girl. And she had been doing that for a long time now. Mama and Daddy had even given her a big girl bed.

Last time she saw Jacob he was mean and bossy. He told her all her puzzles were baby puzzles. Ada said they were not! Jacob said they would have a race and the last person to finish a puzzle was the baby. He picked the puzzle of monkeys and gave her the puzzle of robots. He took all of the pieces out and mixed them together on the floor. "Ready, set, go!"

Ada finished her puzzle first, but then she didn't understand what happened. Jacob started to cry, and Aunt Bernadette had to hold him. All her other aunts and uncles stopped talking and just looked at their food. They must have been very hungry, which Ada didn't understand because they had been eating for a long time already. Then Aunt Bernadette told Jacob it wasn't a real race.

"It was too a race! I won!" Ada had said. She didn't understand, and she felt like maybe she was going to have to get on the floor again and kick to show everyone that she didn't understand.

But then Mama picked her up instead and whispered, "Now is not the time, sweetheart. Jacob is sad, and we don't make people feel more sad than they already are."

Mama squeezed her tight, and Ada liked it when Mama held her close. Mama was soft and warm. She didn't understand why Mama didn't want her to talk about it, but Mama had made it so that she didn't want to get on the floor and kick anymore. Then Daddy winked at her over Mama's shoulder, so she knew it was a real race and she knew she won and she knew she wasn't a baby.

Daddy. Daddy was picking her up, but it was too hard to open her eyes to look at him. Then she was back in bed again, but warmer. Daddy had put the blankets on her. Daddy smelled like soap.

Then she was riding a unicorn through the big woods and Wonder Girl was with her and all the trees looked like the shapes Daddy had told her about and there were words floating like clouds and she loved it when the shapes and the words were one and she was so very happy. . .

* * *

Ada will remember none of this. As her mother had once wisely pointed out, her hippocampus and amygdala will not be fully developed for at least another year, and those parts of the brain are vital for memory storage.

However, her first impression will stay with her always. It is vague, short, intense, more of a feeling than an event. There is a field of white. There are shapes. She knows the names of the shapes. Daddy is speaking. Mama is smiling. There is the feeling. The feeling, like The Schedule, has Always Been, too. She is Loved.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews! They really do mean the world to me.** _


	72. Year Five

**. . .**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Five**

* * *

All willpower was gone. The willpower to move. Sheldon was sitting on the floor, his legs bent up in front of him, his head leaning back against the front door. He had been sitting there for thirty minutes, ever since he had waved good-bye with extreme relief to the entire Wolowitz clan. He only turned his head when he heard Amy coming from Ada's room. She smiled softly at him as she approached.

"Amy," he said, when she was very close, "you know I think you're one of the preeminent minds of our generation, but even you have to admit that was a horrible idea."

Her smile spread, and she sat down on the floor next to him. "We were being kind. If we always just stay in and relax for Valentine's Day, why shouldn't we babysit someone else's children so they can go out? This way both Howard and Bernadette  _and_  Penny and Leonard got to have a date night."

"But it was a disaster! Jacob was so hyper, which only results in him being a bad influence on Ada. Lucy is teething or something, she cried all evening. I spent all night chasing Fenny around - I honestly don't remember a crawling baby getting into that much stuff. And it all went directly into his mouth! Plus I didn't get to spend anytime with you, being together! I was refereeing and you were soothing and it was nightmare!"

Amy snaked her arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I don't think I'd use the words disaster or nightmare. Everyone calmed down when we put in the movie. Dinner was a hit; it seems your favorite meal is the favorite meal of preschoolers everywhere. And weren't you the one who just asked me a couple of months ago if I wanted more children?"

"I meant a child, singular. Not children, plural. Certainly not three more." Leaning his own head down to rest on hers, Sheldon said, "I don't want you to be sad."

"Definitely not sad. I promise." Amy sighed softly. "Shall we just go to bed? I feel like you look."

"But we have to watch  _our_  movie! Disney's  _Beauty and the Beast_  is not our traditional Valentine's Day film," Sheldon protested.

"I know. But I think we have to be mature enough to realize that Valentine's Day will not always be the romantic, quiet evening that we would perhaps want it to be in a perfect world. Traditions will come and go with time."

Sheldon's stomach sank. He did not want to lose their Valentine's Day traditions. He had learned a lot in five years of marriage, including the art of compromise and the need to just let some things go no matter how much it pained him; but this was not something he wanted to do only half-way. He also wondered if Amy thought he had forgotten something, if she was really just putting on a passive face, if she was subtly hinting that she was forgiving him for letting another tradition go. The idea of her disappointment rallied him, bringing the willpower back.

"Please, Amy?" he whispered. "We'll cuddle, and if you get too sleepy, I promise we can stop it."

Amy's head shifted, which caused him to raise his own head. She was looking at him, her eyes soft and full of love. "Okay. Shall I make tea while you get the Blu-ray out? Or is it on Netflix now? That would be easiest."

"No!" he shouted. Amy's eyebrows went up. "You get the Blu-ray out. Definitely the Blu-ray! Not Netflix! And you definitely need to be the one to get it, not me! I'll make the tea."

He could see that Amy was intrigued by his insistence, but she got up calmly and didn't argue. Getting up himself, he went to the kitchen to make tea, watching her the entire time. He loved to watch Amy move, the precise and sure way she performed her actions. She found the Blu-ray on the bookshelf, walked over to the player, and opened the case.

A huge grin spread across her face as she pulled the Post-It notes out, one by one.

"I love you more than Sir John loved Irene."  
"I love you more than Mr. Mansfield loved Jane."  
"I love you more than Ahmed loved Baghdad."  
"I love you more than Hans loved Leia."  
"I love you more than Henry loved Clare."  
"I love you more than Christopher loved Toby."

She almost ran toward him in the kitchen, throwing her arms around him. He squeezed her tight in return.

"You didn't forget," she mumbled into his chest.

"Please, Amy, I never forget anything," he said over the top of her head. "Especially something this important."

Later, the last words of  _About Time_  ringing in their ears, they found they were not too tired, after all, to brush each others skin, not only with a slowness that had been learned in five years time, but also with tenderness and desire that had never lessened in five years.

"I love you more than science and my spot," he whispered.

"I want to swim in your blue eyes," she whispered back.

* * *

"It's snowing," Sheldon grumbled, watching the flakes fall in the fog. After all of the effort he had put into this fifth anniversary present for Amy, Mother Nature was going to ruin it for them.

The Smithsonian had a special Laura Ingalls Wilder exhibit, as it had been 150 years since she had moved with her family from Minnesota to the prairie of Kansas. He would have preferred to travel to Washington, D.C. in the summer, both for Amy's birthday and to avoid the possibility of any snow, but the exhibit would be gone by then. The National Museum of American History had been their first stop, and they had spent all of the day prior there. Amy had prattled off her knowledge and had glowed and grinned with excitement, and it had been wonderful. But now it was snowing.

"I just looked up the forecast. Two to three inches total, stopping about midday," Amy said from the table where she was finishing her room service breakfast. Then she said softly, as though she had read his mind, "It won't ruin our plans."

Sheldon turned from the view of his nation's capital spread before him to look at Amy. "But look how big the snowflakes are!" he pouted.

Amy smiled and got up to stand next to him at the window. "I think it's beautiful. I miss real winters with real snow. It was one of the best things about living in Cambridge. After a snow, the entire campus was so hushed and peaceful. Nothing is more beautiful than fresh snow on the trees. It's magical."

He rolled his eyes.  _There she goes again, with all her sentimentality._

"You love it when I'm sentimental," Amy said.

_There she goes again, reading my mind!_ He didn't know which was more alarming: the mind reading or that she was correct. Before he could respond, Amy's phone chimed.

They moved swiftly to the table, and Sheldon could hardly believe how eager he was for the screen to fill with the scene of his mother's kitchen and Ada's face. Another concern he'd had about this trip is that Amy would not want a layover in Houston to pass their beautiful daughter off to his mother, even if it was just for a few days. She had tried to hide her tears when they boarded their second flight there without Ada, but Sheldon had seen them; he found his own throat incredibly tight, and he only succeeded in holding Amy's hand instead of thinking of anything reassuring to say.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" Amy beat him to a greeting.  _Well, it's probably for the best. I'm not the sentimental one._ "Did you sleep well?"

It had taken Sheldon far longer than it should have taken a man of his IQ to understand this daily question of Amy's. This question was her way of reassuring herself that she had not passed down her night terrors.

"Yes," Ada replied. She was so adorable there, in her pajamas, her hair still rumpled, sitting on Mary's lap at the kitchen table.  _Of course. She's mine._

"Are you behaving for MeeMaw?" Sheldon asked at the exact same time Amy said, "Are you having fun?"

Amy shot him a dirty look and he gave her one back. It was a valid question. No response came so Amy asked her again if she was having fun, and Ada just nodded her head.

"We're having a very fun time, aren't we, Ada?" Mary said. "Tell Mama and Daddy where we went yesterday."

"Museum," Ada answered.

"That's right. We decided that if Mama and Daddy were going to museums, we would, too!" She lifted her face up to look at Sheldon and Amy. "We spent the day at the Children's Museum of Houston. I was worried she'd be too young, but she seemed to enjoy it."

"Of course she enjoyed it, she's a genius," Sheldon said, and then frowned when no one replied.

"What was your favorite part?" Amy asked.

Ada shrugged. "It was too loud."

Mary explained, "We started out in the TotSpot, which was for her age, and she seemed to enjoy that just fine. Then I thought Sheldon would like it if i took her the sciency lab part, all this stuff about atoms and whatnot, but it was crowded. It may have been too much."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. While he appreciated his mother's motives, he could not imagine that it was too much for his little _homo novus_. It was clearly just over-simplified. "Ada, when we get home, Daddy will take you to see Uncle Leonard's lab and explain how it all works. Would you like that?"

The smile and nod that met his question warmed his heart.

"Ada, it's snowing here! Remember what snow is from some of the stories we read? Do you want to see it?" Amy asked.

Ada leaned forward toward Mary's iPad, her face filling the entire screen, her blue eyes so bright. "Yes! Snow!"

Amy picked up the phone and carried it to the window, and Sheldon turned to watch her. "Do you see it? How it's covering everything and making it beautiful?"

"Will you bring me some home?" he heard Ada's voice.

"No," Sheldon yelled out. "Snow is made of crystalline ice particles, so it will melt at approximately 32 degrees Fahrenheit. I refuse to be anywhere that cold." By the time he finished speaking, Amy had brought the phone back to the table.

"Too cold for Daddy, to hot for snow," Ada said.

Sheldon smiled. "Yes, exactly!"

"Thank you so much, Mary. I'm sure she's having a wonderful time," Amy said.

"No, thank you. I love having her for a few days. I love my grandsons, too, but, boy! are they rowdy! It's a real treat to have someone so quiet and calm and well-behaved for once. We haven't even had one of those T-A-N-T-R-U-M-S you warned me about."

"I was calm and well-behaved!" Sheldon protested.

"Shelly, you're too smart to believe that," Mary said.

Amy giggled next to him, and Sheldon nudged her.

"Okay, Ada, let's tell Daddy and Mama what we practiced and then we'll make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast," Mary bent back down to look at the girl in her arms. "Ready? One, two, three -"

"Happy anniversary!" Ada and Mary said together.

Sheldon smiled at them. "Thank you. We love you."

"We miss you! Mama and Daddy will see you in two days!" Amy added.

"Two and half days," Ada said, holding up two fingers and struggling to bend a third in half. Sheldon beamed with pride at her insistence on precision.

"Yes, two and half, that's right!" Amy said, her eyebrows up. "Have fun!"

"Be good," Sheldon said.

There were good-byes all around and the screen went blank. Amy sighed. "I miss her."

"I do, too," Sheldon said, his voice timid. He still wasn't sure if he'd made the right decision; Amy loved to travel, but Amy also hated to leave Ada. Had she really been pinning away and putting on an act for him since they landed?

"But it's good for all of us. It's good for Ada to see how much we value each other, how important it is to us to spend time with each other, strengthening our marriage," she said firmly. Then her voice softened. "I'm having a wonderful time, Sheldon. It's just what I needed."

_How does she do that?_ Sheldon smiled at her, pleased that her enjoyment was genuine. The light from the window caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to look. "Oh, no, is it worse?"

He got up to brood in front of the window once more, and Amy joined him. "It will be fine," she said. "We're taking the subway and the Air and Space Museum is all indoors."

Sheldon crossed his arms and sighed. "But it will be so cold. Too cold for me, as our little genius pointed out."

Amy put her arm around his waist. "You once went to the Arctic circle to perform experiments. I'm sure you can handle a couple of inches of snow."

"That's why I know precisely how cold it will be! We were so frightened of frost bite we had to sleep naked!"

"Well, then, how about this?" she rotated and wrapped her arms all the way around him, looking up at him. "If you go for a walk with me in the snow, we can come back here and sleep naked for warmth. And by sleep, I don't mean sleep. Then, later, you can decide if you still want to go to Air and Space."

Sheldon looked down at her green eyes and remembered how she had been mesmerized by the snow earlier, how eager she was to show it to Ada. Even before he said it, he regretted it. "A very short walk?"

Amy grinned with abandonment.

Against his better judgement, he dressed as warmly as he good ( _three tee shirts!_ ), and they put on the coats they had bought just for the trip. And, although he wished his gloves were thicker, it wasn't even half-way down the block until he found himself feeling happier by the second. Darn Amy and her infectious joy! She was practically skipping down the almost empty sidewalk in front of him, actually twirling occasionally and talking and laughing and letting the snow flakes fall on her bright red cheeks and dark hair in the most alluring way. They leaned together for warmth on the way back, their breath visible and mingling in front of them.

Barely brushing her skin, he asked if his hands were too cold. Amy smiled in their igloo of blankets and told him no, she liked the sensation. Especially when he touched where she was the hottest. Finding just such a location, Sheldon had to admit she was right about the snow after all.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	73. Mrs. Dalloway

**_This is a little different. Let me know what you think of it!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2020**

**Primary Topic: _Mrs. Dalloway_ by Virginia Woolf**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _King John_ by William Shakespeare**

* * *

At 6:30 a.m, the alarm buzzed. Sheldon had been awake for five minutes, calmly resting and expecting it. Invariably, however, Amy made a strangled cry, a mixture of surprise, the edge of sleep, and anger. Having already determined what part of her was the closest to him, Sheldon patted her arm gently before sliding out from under her leg thrown over him. It was a fluid motion: the pat, the slide, the swinging of his legs to the floor, the reaching to turn off the alarm. He left Amy to fume at the morning and went to the closet to remove his pajamas, folding them neatly into the hamper. He rapidly gathered his Tuesday clothes and padded into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he turned his attention to his stubble, standing naked in front of his sink, shaving, leaning in toward the mirror, crossing one leg further back than the other for support. Amy used to come in sometimes while he was shaving, when their mornings weren't so busy and they would occasionally stay in bed together for a bit, and say something about his "cute little ass." He would admonish her choice of words, and she would chuckle. But now that it didn't happen any more, he missed it, vulgarity and all.

His morning stimulant of choice was a hot shower, the hotter the better. He stood among the jets, shooting almost-painful dangers of cleanliness, and rubbed his face. That morning, he was still in the standing and gathering phase when the bathroom door opened. Amy was up earlier than usual.

Closing his eyes, Sheldon turned his back to give her privacy. He didn't speak, knowing that Amy wasn't ready to be reminded that it was morning yet. Fortunately, he could not hear what she was doing over the thrum of water. He still preferred there to be some mysteries in his marriage. Only the flush of the toilet gave her away. After she left, he picked up his bar of soap and began the ritual, the order, he had known for years.

* * *

Ada was awake, but just, when Amy opened her bedroom door. Her hair, already so much lighter, now the color of a slightly used penny, was an unruly sight, her face lined with pillow creases. Amy wondered, not for the first time, if Ada still woke up at 6:30 because of the schedule or because she was a morning person like Sheldon or if it was because she could hear them stirring across the hall. She sincerely hoped, for other reasons, that it was not that she could hear them across the hall.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Amy managed to sound almost-pleased with the time of day, "did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Ada replied, as she allowed herself to be guided out of bed and walked to the bathroom.

It was actually easier now, the morning routine. When she was a young toddler, she was all squirms and fidgets. Now, Ada relented to order, the clothes removed from the Tuesday slot, the brushing of her hair, the barrette pulling it back. Amy always did her hair first, because Sheldon could ever seem to figure it out. It was getting too long to let it go free, the last of her sweet baby curls falling into her face, but not long enough for a braid or anything else yet. Sighing softly at the back on Ada's head, Amy's heart ached at this little girl; a little girl now, not a baby anymore, the last of her baby fat melting away in the past few months. There wasn't much talking, only the necessary instructions. Amy didn't mind, she rarely felt like talking this early in the morning.

Having just picked up Ada's shoes, Amy turned when Sheldon appeared in the doorway, clean and dressed. She passed the shoes to him in a well choreographed movement, and they glided past each other. "Good morning," he said, softly, his eyes gentle upon her.

Amy smiled back, crossing the hall to go take her own shower, listening to the two morning people her life.

"Good morning, Miss Ada. Do you know what day it is?"

"Wednesday."

"And what is Wednesday in French?"

"Marcredi."

* * *

"Milk for my littlest lady," Sheldon said, putting the cup down in front of Ada. He sat Amy's juice down at her place and took his seat.

"Why does Mama get juice?" Ada asked.

"Because she started drinking orange juice fortified with calcium and vitamin D when she was -" Sheldon stopped and glanced at Ada "- before you were here, because she wanted the flavonoids that are not found in milk. It became a habit."

"I want juice," Ada said.

"No. You will drink skim milk at breakfast. Like me," Sheldon said, talking a drink from his own glass to prove a point.

"Why not?" Ada said, her voice starting to sound like a pout.

"You mother would wisely point out that the sugar in orange juice is gratuitous to a preschooler."

"What's grad - gratuitous?" Ada asked.

"Excellent pronunciation, Ada. Gratuitous means unnecessary and excessive. Do you know what unnecessary means?"

Ada twisted her lips up and leaned forward on her knees, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hand. "Mmmmmm, I don't need it?"

"Exactly. Now put your bottom down in the chair and eat your breakfast," Sheldon said firmly. "After you have eaten half of your oatmeal, I will explain the origin of the phrase gilding the lily, which is another synonym for gratuitous. I'm certain you will find it fascinating."

* * *

" . . . Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light  
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,  
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess."

"Shakespeare at breakfast?" Amy asked with a smile, pulling out her chair.

"I'm explaining the origin of the phrase gilding the lily to Ada," Sheldon said.

"Ah," Amy replied, reaching for her spoon. She wondered if Sheldon knew every connotation of that phrase . . . no, probably not. After swallowing a bite, she said, "Don't forget, we have Leonard and Penny's housewarming party tonight."

"A party?" Ada perked up. "A birthday?"

"Not for a birthday," Amy looked at her and smiled. "Because Uncle Leonard and Aunt Penny and Fenny just moved to a new, bigger house. Not all parties are for birthdays."

Sheldon sighed deeply. "How many housewarming parties are they going to have? How many houses are they going to have?"

"You know they need more room, now that there will be -" she glanced over at Ada, who was stirring the remainder of her oatmeal "- more of them. Remember how much you hated their guest room after just a few months? Now imagine sharing it with one of your siblings for eighteen years. And it's only their second house."

He cocked his head. "Perhaps you're right. But is it really a housewarming party if its just the usual group getting together for takeout?" Before she could answer, Sheldon turned his head, "Ada, stop that. If you don't want your banana, that's fine. But do not smash it into the table. You'll have to help me clean that later. Eat like the  _homo novus_  you are, please."

"What's a  _homo novus_?" Ada asked.

"A civilized person," Amy replied. "And listen to your father. Don't play with your food."

* * *

Standing at the white board in his office, Sheldon heard the ping from his phone, the unique sound of a text from Amy. Not at a critical point, he capped his marker and moved to read it. He wondered, yet again, if he should give in and get a watch like Amy. Then he could have conversed with her while at his board. Normally he prided himself on his early adaption to new technologies, but he just couldn't bear the thought of parting with the watch Amy had given him for their first anniversary. He claimed, when asked, that he preferred the beautiful form of an analog watch, a testament to Swiss craftsmanship. That was not the whole truth.

Sure enough, it was voice text; Amy had sent it from her watch. And he did like hearing her voice. He pressed play. "Do you think we should stop and buy flowers to take to Leonard and Penny's?"

"No," he replied, sending his own voice across campus.

"But plants or flowers are the traditional housewarming gift. And flowers are easier to procure on short notice," Amy's voice replied after a pause.

"Flowers are a scam and a waste of money. Switching to a phone call." Sheldon pressed the appropriate buttons until they were connected and put the phone to his ear.

"A scam?" Amy asked.

"They are overpriced for their life expectancy. Some Victorian flower grower spread the rumor that flowers are the appropriate gift for almost everything."

"Well,  _I_  like receiving flowers. But if you feel strongly, we should get a plant with a full life ahead of it instead . . ." Amy let her voice trail away

"I didn't say that. I disagree with the social contract of housewarming gifts," Sheldon said.

"But they bought us a housewarming gift. And it was nicer than flowers."

"I think that was a thank-you-for-finally-moving-out-of-our-house gift."

"Maybe."

Sheldon waited for Amy to say something else, but when she didn't, he spoke. "It would have been more expedient to text 'FYI - we're stopping on the way home to purchase flowers as a housewarming gift for Leonard and Penny.' Because you've clearly made up your mind."

"I wanted your opinion."

"No, you wanted my opinion to agree with your opinion."

"Okay, fine. FYI - we're stopping for flowers as a housewarming gift for Leonard and Penny on the way home. You don't have to get out of the car; I will buy the flowers myself."

"See, was that so hard?" Sheldon asked.

He heard a little breathy sound on the other end of the line. "No, but where's the fun in that?"

Sheldon returned the smile that he knew was there as surely as if he'd seen it.

* * *

After two years, their timing was impeccable. Amy saw her tall and brilliant husband approaching from his own building, and her smile broke open for him. When they fell in walking next to each other, she reached over to squeeze his hand quickly. "How was your day?"

"Good," Sheldon replied. "And yours?"

"Good. Any word from Barry yet?"

Sheldon shook his head. "No."

"It's probably too soon, being her first baby," Amy said.

"Probably."

More conversation on the topic of Barry Kripke's impending fatherhood was interrupted by the sound of a plane, somewhere close and low. They both stopped and tilted their heads back, shielding their eyes from the late afternoon sun.

"It's an old-fashioned biplane," Sheldon said.

"Look! I think it's sky writing!" Amy said. They watched it for a moment, waiting for the words to appear. "'Watch,'" Amy quoted when the first word could be made out. The place circled back and started tracing again just under that word.

"'E . . . S . . . P . . . N'" Amy said slowly as each letter came up. They both groaned, lowered their heads, and moved on.

Sheldon went on to tell her about his work and about the conversation at lunch in which he and his friends discussed the trailer released for the new  _Wonder Woman_  movie. Amy told him about some of her work that day, and also of the newest drama in the lives of her undergraduate lab assistants. In time, they made it to the faculty daycare and waved in unison to the receptionist that buzzed them in.

Reaching Ada's classroom, Sheldon held the door for Amy as she stepped in first, her eyes scanning the room for her daughter. It was unstructured play at the end of the day, as the parents trickled in at various times to pick up their children. Sheldon made his way over to her teacher, in order to ascertain, as he always did, if there had been any changes in the planned educational schedule the parents were sent weekly and to receive a behavior report.

Ada was standing and playing alone at the petite wooden kitchen stove. She was concentrating deeply on the imaginary food in her skillet. Sometimes, if her little friend Remy was still here, they might be playing to together; but not today.

"Hello, Ada," Amy said, crouching down next to her. "What are you cooking?"

"Hi. Crêpes."

"Crêpes?" Amy's eyebrows went up. She didn't know that Ada knew what they were. Then she remembered. "Oh, yes, because it's France week? Did you learn about French food today?"

Amy saw Sheldon's legs out of the corner of her eye as he came to stand on the other side of their daughter.

"Of course," Ada replied, matter-of-factly.

"Of course." Amy looked up at Sheldon and gave him the smile that clearly meant 'Can you believe this kid?'

Sheldon shrugged his 'Yes, she's both my daughter and correct' shrug in reply.

"Well, my little chef de cuisine, it's time to leave. We get to see Uncle Leonard and Aunt Penny's new house tonight, remember?" Amy said, looking back down at Ada. As always, a tiny sliver of fear ran through her that there would be a melt-down. Fortunately, the full on-the-floor-kicking tantrums seemed to be a thing of the past, but more than once a sobbing Ada had been forcefully picked up by Sheldon and carried to the car against her will.

But Ada only smiled at Amy and said, "Okay."

And then she rubbed her small hands on a play hand towel, studiously wiping off the non-existent food debris.

'Can you believe this kid?' Amy smiled.

'Yes, she's both my daughter and correct,' Sheldon shrugged as he reached for Ada's hand.

* * *

Amy smoothly pulled into the parking spot in front of Mulberry's Florist and turned off the engine. "I'll be quick." Then she turned slightly as she said to Ada, sitting in the back seat behind him, "Ada, would you like to go pick out some flowers for Aunt Penny?"

"Yeah!" Ada cheered and Sheldon felt the thump of her little feet on the back of his seat.

"Amy, I thought you said you'd be quick," Sheldon protested as Amy got out of the car.

Leaning down to look at him from outside her door, Amy replied, "Well, I can't take it back now, can I?"

Sheldon shrugged. No, he supposed not. The offer had been extended and accepted. He unhooked his seat belt and opened the door, meeting Amy on his side of the car.

"Now you want to go, too?" she asked, a smirk playing about her lips.

"Only in case you need an extra set of hands in the event of a . . . you know."

"Ada will be a very good girl, won't you?" she said, the top half of her body disappearing into the car to unhook their daughter.

"Yes," Ada answered.

There was a shuffle and Ada scampered around Amy's legs to get to the ground. Amy shut the car door and took her hand. Before she took a step, she leaned closer to Sheldon and whispered, "It's okay. You don't have to pretend you don't want to be where we are."

Before he could reply, the smirk deepened and she took off toward the front door, her arm swinging with Ada's. Surprised, Sheldon stood still for a moment. What did she mean by that? And why was she so amused by it? Then the door to the florist was shutting behind them, obscuring them from his view, and he hurried to catch up before he lost them.

* * *

"Should we decide by color or by type of flower?" Amy asked, bending over the colorful display.

"Purple!"

Amy smiled down at her daughter. "Color it is. Which purple ones? These tulips?"

Ada nodded her head. "And those." She pointed at the hydrangeas above her.

"Good choice, they are beautiful. This color is called periwinkle, it's between light blue and purple." Amy pulled a bunch out, their stems dripping. "See, how they look a little bit blue and little bit purple at the same time?"

"Periwinkle," Ada repeated, bending her face down to smell them as Amy held them out. "Those!" Ada pointed again.

"Sweetpeas. I like the violet-colored ones, but I think this snow white would be good for contrast. Don't you agree, Ada?" Amy picked up a small posy of the white flowers.

"Yes," Ada nodded.

"Come on, let's go pay and have them arranged in a vase. We promised Daddy we'd be quick." They walked to the counter together, and Amy sat her flowers down, explaining to the clerk what she wanted and answering a couple of questions.

"And these," Sheldon's voice said beside her, sitting down a bunch of sunflowers.

Amy turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.

"In the same arrangement?" the clerk asked.

"No, you can just wrap these separately," Sheldon answered. "They're for someone who likes receiving flowers."

"Sheldon," Amy said softly and smiled.

He shrugged and buried his face in the screen of his phone. "They are a perfect example of the Fibonacci sequence in nature. As such, they are atheistically pleasing." But then the edges of his lips turned up just as his eyes flicked up to meet hers.

* * *

Penny opened the front door even before they made it up the walkway. As always, she looked radiant, even with a baby on her hip and her swollen stomach. Once again, Amy thought she could have been a painting, something by Botticelli.

"Hey, you guys," she cheered. "Welcome to our new home. Oh, flowers! Thanks! Did you pick these out, Ada?" she asked, looking down.

"Yes. With Mama. They contrast," Ada said, standing at Amy's side.

"Oh. I guess they do," Penny said softly, her face twisted.

"Your house is beautiful, Penny," Amy said. Indeed, it was. Much larger than their bungalow but still Spanish in style. She felt an unexpected pang of loss for the Hofstadters' old home; yes, it had been a refuge from one of their worst experiences, but it had also been the formation of some of their greatest joys.

"Come on in, I'll give you the tour. Raj and Stuart are already here," Penny said. Then Fenny lunged forward, his arms out to Sheldon. "Look who wants to see Uncle Sheldon!"

There was a pause as both Penny and Amy waited for Sheldon to sigh deeply and then take the boy in his own arms. "Why me?"

"Sweetie, I've asking myself that for years." Now that her hands were empty, Penny reached out for the vase of flowers that Amy was still holding.

"Ugh, he's sticky. Why is he always sticky?" Sheldon groaned.

Penny laughed and put her free hand up in a helpless gesture. "Because little kids always are, Sheldon. Especially since he started crawling. Oh, look, Howard and Bernadette are here."

Amy reached into her purse for wet wipes, and Sheldon gave her a grateful look as she wiped down Fenny's hands.

Bending down slightly, Penny said to Ada, "Isn't that right, Ada? Little kids are always sticky?"

"I'm not," Ada replied calmly. "I'm always clean."

"I see the Cooper Self-Satisfaction Society is present, so I guess the gang is all here!" Howard called from the sidewalk, Lucy in his arms. Amy turned to give him a dirty look, but that only led him to say, "Look at that, they all have the same evil eye!"

"Howie!" Bernadette barked. At that moment, Jacob wrested free of her hand and ran the few remaining steps, calling for Ada. "Jacob Howard Wolowitz! Do not let go of my hand outside!"

"Come on, Bernie, it's like three steps to the door. It's not like it's a parking lot," Howard said.

"Do not contradict my rules in front of the children!" Bernadette hissed.

Uncomfortable, Amy turned to looked at Sheldon, and their eyes met. She tilted her head and tried to silently apologize for every time she had become frustrated and yelled at him in public. He nodded slightly in return.

"You're just in time for the tour," Penny said, breaking the tension, and sweeping into the house.

* * *

"Okay, I've saved the best room for last. You're going to love this!" Penny enthused. Along the way, they had picked up Leonard, Raj, and Stuart.

"The dining room? We already walked through here once," Sheldon said. He didn't really see the point of the tour. He didn't really see the point of this party. He didn't really see the point in four bedrooms, either. Most of all, he was dying to move the vase of flowers to the center of the table, not just the corner where Penny had absently-minded set them down on their way through here earlier. But he was stuck, Fenny still content to be carried around in his arms, even though they had somehow lost both Jacob and Ada several rooms ago. Where was she? Did Amy know? And shouldn't Bernadette be yelling about her lost son by now?

"No, this!" Penny stood by a large doorway, double glass doors swung open to reveal a room filled with toys. "A playroom! Right off the dining room!"

Like magic, Jacob and Ada had somehow already sussed this room out, and Jacob was standing at the very top of a plastic slide.

"Jacob Howard Wolowitz! Get down from this instant! You could fall and break something!" Bernadette yelled.

"Nah, he's fine," Leonard said. "I kid proofed the whole room already." Then he added pointedly, "Sheldon."

"What? I didn't say anything! It was Bernadette." Fenny squirmed in his arms, and Sheldon gratefully put him down on the floor, giving him a minute to find his balance before he toddled off to join the others. As he did, he gave quick scan to confirm that all the visible outlets had plugs in them. "Although you could stand some organization in here. Not that I expected any from Penny."

Ignoring the slight, Penny said, "That's why it's perfect! It's whole room just for the kids, and then we can shut the door and leave the mess all behind when we want!"

"I think it's great for them," Raj said, leaving the group to dive into the fun. "Who's afraid of the hug monster?" he growled and Ada took off trotting around various toys with a squeal before he caught her.

"You're going to just shut the door, instead of having them put their toys back where they belong?" Sheldon looked horrified.

"Sure." Penny shrugged. "It's not worth the battle to us. They're just kids. Look how happy they are! We're even going to get a kid-sized table and chairs in here, so it will be perfect for Friday nights!"

"Friday nights?" Sheldon asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"Oh," Leonard said. "I'm sorry, Sheldon, it's not how we meant to bring it up."

"Bring what up?" Sheldon demanded.

"I think I just got carried away," Penny said. She glanced at Leonard. "We were thinking that since we have a bigger house now, and this great playroom is right off the dining room, that maybe we should move Friday nights to our house."

"But it's always been at my house!" Sheldon said. He turned quickly to Amy. "Did you know about this?"

Amy shook her head forcefully, "No, this is the first I've heard. Honestly." He could see that she was just as surprised as he was, and he grunted.

"Well, I think it's a good idea," Howard said, still holding Lucy. "There's more room, the toys are separate . . . remember how angry you got when they drew all over your equations a couple weeks ago?"

Sheldon crossed his arms.

"And Friday nights started when you and Leonard were roommates, so I think he has just has just as much claim to them as you do," Bernadette said.

"But it's my thing!" Sheldon protested. He felt Amy's palm on his bicep; she wanted him to calm down, he knew. But it was his thing!

"Listen, buddy," Leonard said. "This isn't how we wanted to bring this up. I even made a PowerPoint for you, if you want to see it. With square footage and everything. But we think it's a good idea, and we hope you'll at least give it serious consideration." Leonard wrapped his arm around Penny and leaned into her.

"You can still be the back-up spot," Penny said. Then she patted her stomach. "Like the first few weeks after this little tyke is born!"

Sheldon didn't reply. Amy said, softly, "They make several valid points, Sheldon. You always find the level of noise and activity stressful, now that there are several children present. It doesn't mean that you don't have friends anymore or that they can't come over to eat dinner at other times."

As if to accentuate her point, a burst of laughter came from the playroom, and Jacob yelled, "Do it again, Raj!"

"No, I'm next!" Ada yelled.

Sheldon turned to watch them, Raj and the three children, laughing and playing and running and being so loud. Then he glanced over at the dining table, clean and calm and comparatively quiet, even if the flowers were still decentered. At last he looked down at Amy, who just tilted her head slightly.

"Very well," he grumbled. "Friday nights will be here now. But it better still be Thai food."

* * *

"You're wrong. It wasn't about sexual bondage," Amy protested. "The chains were a visual representation of the oppression experienced by women for centuries. And every time Wonder Women broke free, she was symbolizing the need for women to break free of their societal enslavement to men."

"I agree with Amy," Stuart added. "If you read the original comic books, World War II and prior, Wonder Woman was not allowing herself to be subjugated by any man."

"Whatever you call it, I'm just disappointed there weren't any scenes in the trailer," Howard said. "This could be the hottest thing since Princess Leia was captured by Jabba the Hutt."

"Howie!"

Howard was saved by the sound of several cellphones going off at once. They all glanced at each other, and then Sheldon, Leonard, Howard, and Raj all took out their phones in unison.

"It's Kripke," Leonard said. "The baby is here!"

"Let me see!" Penny said, leaning over his shoulder, just as Amy leaned over Sheldon's to look at the picture. "Awwww, she's adorable!"

"She looks like a baby to me," Sheldon mumbled. Amy nudged him the ribs but smiled to herself.

"What's the name?" Bernadette asked.

"Corinna Padma Kirpke," Amy read aloud. "That's cute."

"Everybody's having babies. Who would have thought we'd all be parents some day?" Howard said. "Oh, sorry Raj."

"Don't be," Raj said. "I just get to wind them all up and ply them with sugar and send them home. It's great."

"Yep, it's all fun and games until someone pulls Cinnamon's tail," Stuart said. Leonard and Howard snickered.

"Hey! She's a senior citizen in dog years now!" Raj protested. Then he looked pointedly at Howard. "Remember how angry you got when those new neighbor kids pulled your mother's wig off?"

Howard's face turned stormy and his eyes narrowed. "You don't have to tell every-"

Leonard stood quickly. "Who wants cake and ice cream?" he called loudly. Amy's shoulders slumped in disappointment; she wanted to hear this secret about Mrs. Wolowitz's hair.

Instantly, three pairs of little feet came slapping their way into the dining room from the play room.

"Me, me, me!" Jacob hopped up and down.

"Me, too!" Ada said. Amy cleared her throat loudly. "Please," Ada added. Fenny came trailing behind, clutching Amy's chair for support as he stood.

"Ada, do you want chocolate or vanilla ice cream?" Penny asked as she stood to help Leonard serve dessert.

"Just cake. Ice cream is gratuitous," she answered.

"Seriously?" Bernadette mumbled.

Even Amy looked at Sheldon with slightly raised eyebrows. He shrugged back.

* * *

"She was out before I finished reading," Sheldon said, sitting down next to Amy on the sofa.

"I think all that running around the playroom wore her out." Then she softened her voice a little. "So, you're really okay with Friday nights moving to their house?"

Sheldon nodded slowly. "Yes. All of the reasons they presented were logical. And there was always a kids table at family gatherings when I was growing up, so it's only fair that our children should experience that set of circumstances. I was just surprised."

"I know." Amy took his hand, and he looked over at her soft smile. "Gratuitous?"

"What can I say? She's a genius."

Amy chuckled and then said, "Book Club? It occurred to me, just now, when I was reviewing my highlights and bookmarks, that our day actually had a fair amount in common with Clarissa Dalloway's: it was a Wednesday, there was a skywriter, we discussed Shakespeare, we bought flowers, and it all ended with a party." Then she frowned. "Well, it didn't end exactly the same, of course; there was no tragic news for us, only the good news about Kripke and Sarah's baby. That's a change to be grateful for."

"Our stories always have better endings," Sheldon said.

Then Amy turned her beautiful green eyes upon him, soft and pleased by his statement. Yes, always better endings.


	74. Book Club

**Book Club**

* * *

_"Our stories always have better endings," Sheldon said._

* * *

First, there is Book Club. There are words, phrases, passages rolling off the tongue. There are surprises accented by raised eyebrows, irony accented by quiet chuckles. There are smiles of agreement, head shakes of disagreement. Ideas are put forth tentatively or forcefully. There are similes and symbolism. Thoughts are stirred, hearts are inflamed.

Afterwards, there is often calm. There is cuddling on the couch, watching something together. Or there is silently working at their partners desk, across from each other, faces half-hidden by computer screens. Or there are preparations for the next day: Ada's lunch is packed, the dishwasher is ran, clothes are folded. Thoughts are silently sorted, sifted, new ideas mentioned by the other are pondered. The heart burns ever brighter.

Then, at the appointed time, there is the unspoken ritual of bedtime. Lights are turned down, electronics are put to sleep, it is confirmed the door is locked. There is standing next to each other, each person at their respective sink, brushing their teeth. Privacy in the bathroom is given. Clothes are removed. The words and feelings of Book Club linger, the heart is combustable, and, almost always, their bodies are not recovered.

It is almost never discussed. In the dark now, there are small movements, rolling toward one another, soft touches, gentle kisses; the silent asking and giving of consent. The taste of mint on the tongue, the feel of broad shoulders, the depths of freed hair.

It deepens. Necks are arched, pulses are felt through lips. Erect nipples are teased, taunted. Ticklish bellies shy away from fingers. Bodies are wrapped in embraces. Even in the blackness of night, eyes sparkle and twinkle. Breathing quickens, shallows.

There are the very depths of her. A topography he knows well. Hot, wet, intoxicating. There is stroking or sometimes swirling. Holding her close, listening to her every sound, the way the air catches in her throat on the way in, the way it starts coming out with just a hint of a moan behind it. At some point, she will lick her lips. A dam of feeling is released, the sounds come louder, quicker now, the mewing of pleasure. Her body will curve repeatedly toward him, pushing herself closer to what she wants. And then it will happen: crying, clawing, clamping, maybe an "Oh! Yes!"

For a moment, all is still. There is a gentle kiss somewhere: the cheek, the forehead, the top of her hair. A strong arm around her soft shoulders. The heart beat slows, but only slightly. Recovery but also the anticipation of more.

There is the zenith of him. A landscape she knows well. Warm, velvety, potent. There is gripping, squeezing, rubbing, sometimes swiping across the peak. Staying close to him, listening to his every sound, the way the air stumbles on the way into his lungs, the ways it starts coming out deeper, in a groan. At some point, he clutches her tightly and whispers, "That's enough."

For a second, there is indecision. No, too brief even for that word. There is a spark, a flash, and something is decided. Pillows are hastily arranged. No time is given for the heart beat to slow. Not recovery, just the hot lightening of passion. Eagerness and hunger.

He is long, lean, angular, sharp. She is smaller, rounder, softer, comprised of curves. And, yet, when she straddles him and takes him in, the congruence cannot be denied. They were made for each other. They are two halves of a whole. Every time, something between a gasp and a moan escapes their lips at the same time. A refrain of thanksgiving.

There is movement, the shifting of muscle beneath skin. There is the leaning, the tilting. Her hair and her breasts fall forward, and he is bewitched all over again. He rubs his palms along her thighs, her hips, her buttocks, and she is possessed by him once more. He rises up to meet her, she presses into him. She sets the pace, and it moves quickly, easily, slick and sliding. Everything is perfect: the heat, the sounds, the angle of where their pelvises meet. Their lips join in a frenzy, pulling, sucking.

Because of the angle, it happens together, the pulsing, the stiffening. Once again, she cries out, her mouth forming a perfect O, her body flushing. His head tilts back, his upper lip curls, a deep groan of pleasure escapes his lips.

She falls against him, their sweating chests heaving together. He wraps her in a hug, and she kisses the dampness of his neck. This time, something new happens. The words will make Sheldon raise his eyebrows in surprise before squeezing Amy tighter in tacit agreement.

"Book Club sex is so hot."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	75. The Remains of the Day

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2020**

**Primary Topic: _The Remains of the Day_ by Kazuo Ishiguro**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The Elements: A Visual Exploration of Every Known Atom in the Universe_ by Theodore Gray & Nick Mann _,_** **_On a Beam of Light: The Story of Albert Einstein_ by Jennifer Berne, ** **_Tiny Titans_  by Art ** **Balthazar & Franco, and  _The Notebook_  by Nicholas Sparks**

* * *

Scanning Facebook on her computer, Amy had heard Sheldon and Ada return to the great room from her bath, but she wasn't really paying attention. Her least favorite household chore finally finished, she was enjoying looking at the new baby pictures of Frances that Penny had posted a couple of hours ago, treating herself to a few minutes of peace. ("Really? Fenny and Frannie? That's what they want us to call their children?" Sheldon had shook his head when the news came. "Hollywood has made her even softer in the brain than I previously thought.")

Ever since Amy had agreed to a change in the schedule, shortly before Ada's second birthday, Ada almost always spent this half-hour before bed with her father. Sheldon was usually informing her on something, either shapes and numbers at the table, little songs on her toy xylophone, or looking through that new book he bought her,  _The Elements_. Sometimes, Amy would join in, either because she was asked to or because they looked like they were having so much fun together or - most importantly to her - to lighten things up, so that Sheldon's "information" sessions didn't turn into school.

"But, Amy," he had argued, "it's clearly not school. I'm not a teacher. I don't see what's wrong with instructing her on something new, setting up little tests - I won't call them that, if you like - correcting her when she's wrong, and keeping track of her scores."

"Sheldon," she had sighed, "let her be a child, for goodness sake. She's two. Playing in a fun way that imparts new information, casually and for her enjoyment, I am completely in favor of that. Pedantic lessons, with a test, even a test called something else, I am strongly opposed to."

"But she could be a genius, and we'll never know because you won't allow testing."

"There will plenty of time for tests and advanced placement -  _if needed_ \- later. Right now she is my baby. My little girl. Let me have her for another three years, please," she pleaded.

"Advanced placement! So you've also noticed -"

When it just used to be Sheldon saying it, she could pretend it was wishful thinking. But lately . . . . Amy had sighed again. She put her hand up to stop him mid-sentence. "She could just be verbally advanced. Verbal cognition at this age is not necessarily indicative of future intelligence. Einstein didn't even speak until he was four."

"But think if he had! She could be smarter than Einstein! I should start teaching her to read! And relativity!"

"No." It was firm. "Three years, Sheldon. Three more years."

"But -"

"I said no." She had fixed her steely gaze upon him, the one she reserved for the most important issues.

He had looked at her for a moment, and she stared back, refusing to blink even when her eyes started to ache. Finally he threw up both his hands, mumbled "Fine," and gave his sound of disgust as he left the room. Amy let her shoulders drop. She knew it was also his sound of defeat; but, somehow, she suspected this particular issue was bound to resurface in the future.

Tonight, though, she couldn't quite tell what they were doing, and it was this uncertainly that pulled her back from the baby pictures. There were rummaging sounds in the living room, Ada's high-pitched voice, Sheldon's deeper voice, but no clear words. Curious, Amy was just about to go investigate, when Ada came sliding around the corner to her.

"Mama, look! I'm wearing Daddy's socks!"

Amy turned and laughed. Not just at the sight of Ada in her pajama shirt, her days-of-the-week underwear, and a pair of Sheldon's socks pulled up high above her knees, as though they were leggings; but that it was such a normal childish thing to do.

"Ada! How did you get your father's socks? And where are your pajama pants?" Amy asked, putting her arms out for Ada to crawl up into her lap.

"I was going to show her how to properly fold laundry at the coffee table as a practical geometry exercise, but she was far more interested in matching my socks than the FlipFold," Sheldon explained, coming around the corner himself.

"Well, that's fun, right?" Amy said, trying to gauge Sheldon's opinion of the change in syllabus and if she needed to inform him of what his opinion should be. "Matching things is important, too. Besides," she leaned down closer to Ada and put her finger on her knee, "Daddy's socks are educational. Who is this?"

"I don't know," Ada answered.

"I was just about to tell her, before she came running in here. Of course, she would insist on putting on the tallest pair!" Sheldon said.

Amy smiled up at him. It had become a habit of hers to pick up a pair of zany socks anywhere she saw some he would like. How was she to know these particular socks were knee socks, even on her tall husband? "That's Albert Einstein."

Ada nodded. "I like his hair."

Sheldon actually gripped his chest, and Amy chuckled at his overreaction. "Yes, he has fun hair, doesn't he? But he's also a very important scientist. I'm sure there's a book or a website Daddy knows about he can show you if you like."

"Show me, Daddy!" Ada jumped down and raced toward Sheldon.

"Did you know Einstein didn't say a single word until he was four -" Sheldon started.

"Wait!" Amy stopped them as they turned. "Sheldon, are you not wearing shoes? Just your socks?"

"Ada wanted to see them. I did get to explain the Rubik's Cube to her before she became fixated on the pair she's wearing."

Suddenly, smiling at the two of them, Amy was struck by inspiration. "Let me take a picture. Maybe for Instagram."

Sheldon sighed. "Ada, there was a glorious time in the past when you mother's Instagram account consisted of monkeys, brain dissections, and out of focus pictures of me, taken from afar. Because she knew I didn't like it. Now, we're the monkeys, forced to pose for her amusement." Despite this protest, he had lifted Ada up while he spoke and put her much smaller feet on top of his. "Like this? From above? That's an artistic angle."

"It's perfect," Amy replied, standing and taking the picture with her phone from above. He was correct, it  _was_  very artistic. Then they were off, sliding back into the great room together, Sheldon talking about Einstein. Next she heard the sliding of one of the white boards and the uncapping of the marker. ". . . relativity . . . " she made out.

Remembering something she had seen once, Amy did a quick search on Amazon. She needed an age appropriate source before Sheldon started making this too exact. Physics did that to him. Ah, there it was. She purchased it and had it sent to Sheldon's iPad in less than a minute. She heard the chime from around the corner.

"Oh, look at this, Ada," she heard Sheldon interrupt himself. "It appears that your mother sent us a book.  _On a Beam of Light: The Story of Albert Einstein_. Knowing her as I do, I suspect she believes this is what I should read to you. Should we save it for before bed?"

"No, read it now!" Ada demanded.

Amy chuckled at the two of them as Sheldon started to read. Crisis averted, as her husband and her daughter settled into a normal preschool activity, Amy turned her attention back to her photo from earlier. She selected a filter and typed her caption before posting:

_My two brainiacs, sharing their love of crazy socks. And Einstein. #daddyisasoftieafterall_

* * *

When she returned to the living room less then a hour hour later, Ada finally asleep after she insisted that Mama read the new Einstein book again, two steaming mugs of tea were already resting on the dining table and her Kindle was there, too. Sheldon was waiting.

"Look who's eager for Book Club!" Amy cheered, coming to take her seat. It looked so blissful: her husband, a comforting cup, some quiet time after a busy evening that she had spent cleaning the bathrooms, which was her least favorite chore.

"I'm always eager," he shrugged. "Is she still wearing my socks?"

"We struck a bargain. She can sleep in them tonight but she cannot wear them as leggings to school tomorrow," Amy explained, reaching for her tea.

"I suppose that's fair," Sheldon replied. "So,  _Remains of the Day_?"

"I'm eager for Book Club, too, but first we need to talk about the email from Rajesh. I know you read it; I could tell by your face." Their phones had chimed in perfect unison earlier, just as they were about to sit down for dinner, and it was unusual enough they both paused to read their new email.

"Yes. But I know what you're going to say -" Sheldon started.

"You do?" Amy asked.

"- plus you're going to be smug and self-satisfied for at least two weeks about it."

"I am?" Amy's mug of tea stopped half-way to her mouth.

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "You can't act coy with me. I knew exactly what you were up to. I always know what you're up to. Just like sending that book earlier."

Amy wrinkled her brow. "And what exactly was that? And when was I up to whatever I was up to? This is the first I've heard of it. Not the book, this other mystery thing."

"I saw what you were doing with your little dinner party."

The mug went forcefully down on the table. "Really, Sheldon, you have to explain whatever this is you're talking about." She shook her head. What was Sheldon going on about? They were supposed to be discussing Raj's email, the question he had asked them.

Sheldon sighed loudly. "So it was all a coincidence that you invited Raj and Stuart over to dinner with Faisal and Oliver when they were here visiting from London?"

"Oh." Amy shook her head slightly. "I invited Raj and Stuart over because Oliver owns an antique store. I thought Oliver and Stuart both might appreciate having someone with which to discuss the joys and trials inherent to being a self-employed shop owner. The rest of us are scientists, and that has to get boring for Stuart sometimes."

"Really? Is that all?"

"Okay, yes, it did occur to me that they are both same-sex couples, and they might enjoy having that in common, too. Is that what you're getting at?"

Sheldon crossed his arms. "But one of those couples is monogamous and owns a home together. And then, three months later, guess who are moving in together? The other couple!"

Amy huffed. "Sheldon, this is a big step for Raj and Stuart. Are you upset about it for some reason? Or are you still jealous about Faisal and me?"

"Faisal?" Sheldon snorted. "As if I could ever be jealous of your beard."

She couldn't help herself, she started to giggle. "It's the other way around. I was his beard."

"Oh." Sheldon deflated. But his pitiful face broke the building tension.

Amy reached out to put her hand on his arm. "In all seriousness, we need to discuss this and give Rajesh a reply. I'm sure timing is important."

"It's not as though we can stop them," he grumbled.

"I'm glad you realize that. They don't have to ask our permission to move in downstairs. Honestly, I think they're being overly considerate. Tell me what's bothering you."

"It's not bothering me, not really. It's just that . . . well, I can't seem to get away with living in a building without any of my friends, can I?" Sheldon looked down, pouting at his tea.

Amy smiled, knowing full well there was time, a very long period of time, in which Sheldon thought he couldn't live without his friends next door or even in the same apartment. "The unit for sell is two floors down on the opposite side of the building. It's not like they'll be our direct neighbors. I'm sure they won't invade our privacy if we don't invade their's."

Sheldon sighed softly. "No, you're right. I don't really mind. It's just . . . first Friday nights and now this. But I suppose there could be advantages."

"Like a babysitter in the same building?" Amy asked.

"I hadn't thought of that!" Sheldon looked up, cheered. "I was thinking of comic book delivery."

Laughing, Amy said, "You do know that taking advantage of them is just as bad as invading their privacy, don't you?"

"It's not taking advantage if Stuart is going to be driving from the comic book store to this exact address, anyway. There's even a functional elevator. He won't break a sweat," Sheldon protested.

"So you won't be taking Ada to the store anymore?" Amy asked, hiding her smirk in a drink.

Sheldon sat up straighter. "You make an excellent point. It is very important to expose our genius to any and all examples of the written English language. It's important for her future academic success."

"Indeed," Amy said with a smile. She knew nothing would keep Sheldon from taking Ada to the comic book store as long as Ada wanted to go. Ada had not yet shown any interest in the train set or the Duplos, but Amy didn't know whose smile was bigger when they came home with the newest issue of  _Tiny Titans._  "I'll write back when we're done with Book Club." She paused. "I'm not sure who can take credit for picking this book."

"As I recall, it arose organically in conversation while you were watching your  _Downton Abbey_  Blu-ray. The scene at the end of season four, when Mr. Carson asks Mrs. Hughes to marry him. We discussed other pieces of film and literature in the same vein, such as _Gosford Park_ , and we discovered neither of us had read this book," Sheldon explained.

"Yes, I know how we choose it. Just because my memory is not eidetic does not mean it's faulty." Amy rolled her eyes. "It was a rhetorical question."

Sheldon shrugged. "I don't get those."

"Which reminds me of something I thought you might enjoy about this book." Amy reached for and opened her Kindle. "One of the less important . . . motifs was that Mr. Stevens is completely unable to understand witticisms."

Sheldon put his forefinger up in protest. "I'm not completely unable to understand witticisms. I've known Howard for years now. But Stevens makes an excellent point, that it's very difficult to reply in kind because there is so little time to assess all the possible meanings and repercussions before speaking. I have a lot of respect for him that he decides to study it and practice it. Sounds like a very scientific approach."

"So you liked Stevens?" Amy prompted.

"Yes. I liked that he was thorough, precise, careful, and dedicated to doing the best job possible, to being a leader in his field. Even if that field was bultering."

"But to the detriment of his own emotional happiness. Miss Kenton calls him out for it -" Amy looked down to find what she was looking for "- here: 'Why, Mr. Stevens, why, why why do you always have to  _pretend_?' He doesn't see her, not really, even though she's right in front of him. Even in the present, as he's writing about the events of twenty years before, he's completely unable to actually say what he means. He never admits that he regrets his actions, not really; he always has an excuse for them, like he was busy or called away. And he still claims that all of his interest is purely professional. But it's not. He's thought about her for decades, he rereads her letter almost every day, it seems, as he drives across a country to see her. Here, near the end, Mr. Cardinal says to him 'You're not curious. You just let all this go on before you and you never think to look at it for what it is.'"

Sheldon cooked his head. "I thought that was a reference to Lord Darlington, how he gradually came to be a Nazi sympathizer because of the people he associated with; he didn't realize it was happening, perhaps, until it was too late. And that Mr. Stevens, because he was so loyal to Lord Darlington, didn't see it, either."

"I think it has two meanings. The one you mention, yes, but also about his relationship with Miss Kenton." Amy took a drink of her tea.

Her husband didn't speak for a moment, looking lost in thought. "So you're saying the story with Miss Kenton was more important than the story about Lord Darlington?" he asked at last.

"No. They were both about someone being an ostrich with their head firmly in the sand, although in different ways. Lord Darlington starts out meaning well. He has been to Germany shortly after World War I and he sees what the Treaty of Versailles is doing to that country: hyperinflation, food shortages, devastation. So he starts out wanting to do the right thing, to stop this provision of war - that still remains controversial even today - so that Germany can get back on its feet. But he's too trusting, too malleable, he doesn't realize what road he's being led down as the years go by."

"But you think that Stevens is being purposely oblivious? Because of what he says about his job, that it is critical to 'not abandon the professional being he inhabits'?" Sheldon leaned forward slightly at the table.

"Exactly. He uses the word dignity - which I think is a valuable word and he often uses it correctly, he defines it very well - but he uses it as an excuse and crutch. His job is his mask." Amy leaned forward, as well, unknowingly mirroring Sheldon's interest.

"And you think he was in love with Miss Kenton all along, but purposely oblivious to that also? It seemed to me that he was more annoyed and frustrated with her." Sheldon took a drink.

"At first, he was. Because she was the only one brave enough to point out to him that his father was suffering from dementia and the physical effects of advanced age. Stevens is a very proud, vain man and that extends to the those he cares about. So he was offended by her, at first, because he thought that she was saying negative things about his father."

Sheldon tilted his head again. "But then gradually, over time, he fell in love with her? Even though they never expressed any word of affection, at all, even though there weren't any physical displays of attraction or even what might be called flirting?"

Smirking, Amy replied, "Well, Sheldon, not every man can be as suave and sophisticated as you were in the art of wooing."

"Obviously."

Unable to hide it any longer, Amy burst out laughing. She saw Sheldon's face fall slightly, and she touched his hand lightly. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Despite my teasing, there's a grain of truth there: you did slowly start to include displays of affection and flirting with me. Painfully slowly, as I recall, but still on a gradual incline."

"There were times I felt like Sisyphus," Sheldon muttered.

Amy chuckled. "But, as for the book, you're correct. There were no outward signs of romantic or sexual attraction. I think their love grew from an affair of the mind. They were friends first, in very similar professions so they could discuss that common ground, they enjoyed each other's company at the end of the day, over a hot beverage . . ." Amy lifted her mug of tea up in a mini-salute and then took a drink.

"Amy," Sheldon shifted in his chair, "did you ever consider an affair of the mind for us? Do you think we could have gotten married or just been roommates and lived the rest of our lives that way, without . . . " He waved his hand around.

"Sex? Love?" Amy asked. "No, never. I wouldn't have done it."

"But we could have made it work!"

She wrinkled her brow. "Are you saying you seriously considered it? After all this? And Ada!"

"No! Well, yes, it did cross my mind early in our friendship. But, no, I certainly wouldn't change anything now!" Sheldon put both hands up, defending himself. "But I think I knew, pretty early, that you wouldn't have done it. However, I still maintain if any two people could have made it work, it would have been us."

Amy pursed her lips for a moment. "There's this old movie with Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy,  _Without Love_. He's a scientist and she has a scientific mind. Because it was 1945 and women weren't capable of being scientists or something," Amy huffed. "Anyway, they try that exact thing, a marriage without love or any of the physical trappings of love. As you might imagine, it doesn't work. It's like what Miss Kenton says in this book -" she searched for another highlighted passage, "- 'But then year after year went by . . . and one day I realized I loved my husband. You spend so much time with someone, you find you get used to him.'"

"Getting used to someone is not the same as falling in love with them," Sheldon pointed out.

"No, you're right. But the idea here . . . well, it's exactly like on _Downton Abbey_. You work so closely with someone, you know them better than anyone else, you see their strengths and their faults, you can't imagine life without them at your side . . . over time, that can grow into another form of love."

"Like the Greeks," Sheldon volunteered.

"The Greeks?" Amy asked.

"Yes. There are four words - and types - of love in the Greek language, correct? Philia is affectionate regard between equals. That's why it's often referenced as the love between friends."

She nodded in agreement. "Thus Philadelphia is the city of brotherly love."

"Exactly. However, the Greeks would also use this word for romantically linked persons. Then there's éros, which is most commonly interpreted as sexual or intimate love. But Plato postulated that when éros is contemplated within one's mind, it becomes an appreciation of the beauty within that other person, a love of their soul, that it leads to an almost spiritual plane of existence with them. So philia becomes éros that then becomes this sort of super-éros." Sheldon sat back with a satisfied motion, and took a long drink of tea, apparently emptying his mug.

Amy tilted her head and watched him. So sure, so intelligent. She could have never lasted six months in only an affair of the mind with him. Yes, their relationship had started that way, and, yes, it was still the basis for their love, but it was so much more profound than that now. She didn't just love him, she -

"Sheldon, I super-éros you," she said suddenly.

He looked up, startled, his eyebrows raised. Then he blushed slightly before saying softly, "That type of talk will get you everywhere, little lady."

Amy chuckled and then finished her own tea. "Oh, oh, oh!" said said, putting her mug down with a thump, "we still haven't talked about my favorite scene! It reminded me so much of you!"

"Who knew I had so much in common with an aging English butler?" Sheldon asked.

"Here," Amy said, smiling, "the scene where she finds him reading the romance novel. 'I rarely had the time or the desire to read any of these romances cover to cover, but so far as I could tell, their plots were invariably absurd - indeed, sentimental - and I would not have waited one moment on them if not for these aforementioned benefits.'" She looked up. "Remember, he claims he's only reading them because they were written with elegant dialogue that he thought would be helpful to him when talking to the ladies and gentlemen he serves?" Sheldon nodded, and she started to read again, "'Having said that, however, I do not mind confessing today - and I see nothing to be ashamed of in this - that I did at times gain a sort of incidental enjoyment from these stories. I did not perhaps acknowledge this to myself at the time, but as I say, what is there in it? Why would one not enjoy in a light-hearted sort of way stories of ladies and gentlemen who fall in love and express their feelings for each other, often in the most elegant phrases?'"

"And your point is? I don't read romance novels. Well, there was that one horrible Nicholas Sparks book you had us read. But that was your choice, not mine," Sheldon said.

"But it's almost exactly what your excuses were when I first suggested we read the same book together! That they were absurd and sentimental!"

"Those were not my exact words. My argument was based on the amount of time Book Club would require me to extend."

Amy couldn't help but grin. "And, yet, several Book Clubs later, you told me that you never sped read a single Book Club book."

"Well, I - hmmmmm. I suppose there's no use denying it now, I've come to love Book Club. I suspect you know that already. But! -" he raised an eyebrow, "- as I just pointed out, we've only read one romance novel, and we both hated it. So there's nothing to be ashamed of. We're reading deep works of literature, broadening our minds. It's all about the intellectual stimulation."

"So, Dr. Cooper, if it's only about the intellectual stimulation, why is it that you always manage to find the romance in the most surprising of stories?"

She stood then, watching Sheldon struggle to respond, his mouth opening and shutting twice without a word. Chuckling all the way to the sunroom, she took a paper off the printer and brought it back to the dining area, where she handed it to Sheldon. "Here."

He took it, and she sat down again as he quickly read it. "I don't understand. It's a list of household chores. While I agree that Ada needs to learn the value of cleaning up after herself, even I know she's too young to complete all of these. Especially coming from you, who wants to keep her a baby forever."

"Yes, I know," Amy said, ignoring the little comment at the end. "It's a proposal. I propose that we pay someone - hire someone - to do those chores for us."

Pulling his head back, Sheldon said, "You want a maid? Is that why you wanted to read this book, to bring the idea of domestic servitude to the front of my brain?"

Amy sighed. "No, Sheldon, you remember how this we picked this book - together and organically. And they are called cleaning services now, not maids." She paused. "I wrote it at work today. Work was stressful, and I knew the bathrooms had to be cleaned tonight - you know how I hate that - and I regretted the meal choice as it was so time consuming, and I just got thinking: What if I had less to do in the evenings? What if we both had less to do in the evenings? We could spend more time on our hobbies, or with Ada, or just together. The cleaning basics are the easiest to outsource. We're busy people. And we have the money in the budget."

She saw him look down and read the paper again. He was taking too long to read it, and she knew that meant he was thinking. Finally he said quietly, "You want a stranger to touch our things? And what if their standards aren't as high as ours?"

"Notice laundry isn't on there; I don't want a stranger washing my clothing, either. If there are certain bookshelves or something you want noted as off limits, I'm sure we could arrange that. And if one cleaning service doesn't measure up, we'll find another."

"Sometimes I clean when I'm stressed," Sheldon said softly.

"I know." Amy put her hand out to touch his. "You can still do that; things will just be extra clean that week."

He didn't respond, but he didn't shy away.

"Listen, you don't have to decide tonight," she said softly, tenderly running her fingertips along the back of his hand. "I know that Raj's email probably already upset the status quo enough for one evening. Please just promise you'll think about it. Okay?"

Sheldon nodded, and Amy got up again, taking their mugs to the dishwasher.

"'The evening was the best part of the day, the part they most looked forward to.'"

Amy stopped and turned around to face Sheldon. He looked up at her. "'The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it . . . Try to make the best of what remains of the day.'"

She smiled softly and nodded.


	76. An Affair of the Mind

**An Affair of the Mind**

* * *

_Amy chuckled. "But, as for the book, you're correct. There were no outward signs of romantic or sexual attraction. I think their love grew from an affair of the mind. They were friends first, in very similar professions so they could discuss that common ground , they enjoyed each other's company at the end of the day, over a hot beverage . . ." Amy lifted her mug of tea up in a mini-salute and then took a drink._

* * *

His hair. It was slightly darker than hers. Thicker. Coarser, also, but not coarse. It was best, she thought, in the few days prior to his hair cut, when there was more of it. The dark color contrasted with his blue eyes beautifully. If the position was such that she could, Amy often liked to run her fingers through Sheldon's hair when they made love. She liked to feel it, smooth it over his head, his brain. Something so delicate covering something so important.

Because of where her hands were, he knew what would happen. When she took her fast, sharp breaths, just before releasing her first cry, Sheldon knew she would squeeze his head as her body was squeezed by pleasure. He could not help but smile. It would be firm, determined, almost too tight. He will be caught in her vise grip of joy.

It was almost unbearable, the tightness, the aching clenching of her thighs and buttocks. Even as she twisted ever more, her body ached for the sudden valve of surrender. She knew it was close, it had to be or she would die before she got there. She ran her fingers through his hair, this one sure thing outside of herself, the only thing other than her body she could feel in that moment. There was a split second pause in the universe before it burst upon her. Release. She could not help it, she pressed, her fingertips finding the nodules and bumps and divots she knew well. In the whirlwind of pleasure, that essential part of him was there, too. His brain, his big, beautiful, bulbous brain. The first thing she ever loved about him.

He moved his hand away and leaned his face even closer to hers, to kiss her softly along her zygomatic arch. The edges of her lips were curled up slightly into a smile, but the type of smile that one gives when one has a secret. Too soon, she stopped pressing on his head and opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she whispered, out of breath.

"For what?" he whispered back, shifting above her, aligning himself.

"I shouldn't do that. Squeeze your head so hard."

"Shhhh," he soothed into a soft kiss. "I like it. It's like you're making love to my mind." Tomorrow, it will occur to him that was a hippy-dippy thing to say. But at that moment, all he wanted was to lower himself into her, and he lowered his face, also, close to her hair.

Her hair. Lighter, thinner than his. It was best, he thought, early in the morning, when it fell full around her face. But in the evenings, too, it was wonderful, when it fanned out behind her head, so glossy and polished, like a halo. If the position was such that he could, Sheldon almost always liked to rest his face somewhere close to Amy's hair when they made love. He loved to catch the last whispers of the scent of her shampoo, the way it encircled her head, her brain. Something so diaphanous covering something so important.

Because of where his face is, she knew what would happen. There would a moment, so brief it could be missed, just before releasing his groan; Amy knew he would take a deep breath close to her ear, close to her hair. She could not help but smile. It would be greedy, determined, almost too strange a sound. She will hear him taking a memory of her.

It was almost unbearable, the tightness, the feeling of being caught, surrounded by something so wonderful. Even as he drove ever further toward her, his body ached to find the end. He knew it was close, it had to be or he would perish, right there inside of her. He managed to gently touch her hair with his lips, this one sure thing outside of themselves, one more wonderful part of her body he wanted to feel in that moment. There was a split second pause in the universe before he poured into her. A surge. He could not help it, he took her scent just as his cheek crashed into her temple, finding the aroma and sensations he knew well. In the vortex of satisfaction, that essential part of her was there, too. Her brain, her memories, her monumental, magnificent brain. The first thing he ever loved about her.

She ran her fingertips down along his spine and held him closer as he relaxed against her. She could not see him, but she could feel his breath, still hot and panting in her ear. His fingertips were still wrapped in her hair, just as his body was still wrapped by hers. Too soon, he lifted his head and looked at her.

"I think it's my turn to apologize," he whispered.

"For what?" she replied, carefully stretching her legs out so as not to lose him.

"I shouldn't pull your hair there and put so much pressure on your scar. It might be painful."

"It's not," she hushed into a gentle kiss. "I like it. It's like you're making love to my mind." She managed not to giggle, knowing how embarrassed he will be by that naked, sentimental comment tomorrow.

* * *

_**This is a not-apology for the length of the last two** _ **After Dark** _**chapters. I let** _ **After Dark** _**take me where it will, of its of volition, and sometimes it gives me an essay and sometimes it gives me un amuse-bouche.** _

_**As always, thank you for your reviews!** _


	77. The Joy Luck Club

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2020**

**Primary Topic: _The Joy Luck Club_ by Amy Tan**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Joy of Cooking_ by Irma S. Rombauer**

* * *

All was quiet. The only sounds were Sheldon's fingers on his keyboard or the click of his mouse. He didn't even talk to Siri; he had mastered computers before she existed, and, although he found it useful to give her a command while he was walking through a room, when he was sitting down to work he liked it to just be him and his brain. The first dynamic duo. He could feel the summer sun on his back. Amy must have fallen asleep behind him, reading in her Eames chair. He hadn't heard her move in awhile. She preferred the glare shades up when she read, he knew, but they were going to have to close them soon as he was already getting some reflection on the corner of his screen. But he would wait as long as he could for her.

As the sun shifted further, the reflection became of Amy in her chair. He had surmised correctly, she wasn't reading anymore, her Kindle hanging limply in her hand; but she wasn't sleeping, either. She was staring out the window, her eyes vacant. Sheldon watched her reflection for a bit before turning in his chair.

"Amy?" he asked softly.

"Hmmmm?" she replied. Then she seemed to shake and sit up a little straighter. "Sorry, do we need to close the shades?"

"Maybe. Are you alright?"

"I don't feel ill," she said, turning her head back toward the window.

"That's not what I meant."

Amy sighed loudly. Sheldon thought about leaving it, then; it seemed Amy didn't want to talk about it. But Amy responded, "I'm thinking about Ada."

Sheldon knew that. All day, he had known that, even before Ada left. "I'm sure she's fine. She's been out on play dates before. It's only a couple of hours."

"That's not what I meant."

He smiled softly, wondering if Amy realized she had just repeated what he said. No, she didn't. Using his feet, he rolled his chair closer to her. "Amy, I understand this is difficult. I share your concerns. However, we both know that even your mother, despite her faults, is capable of keeping a child alive for two hours without harm. Besides, I thought you were pleased. I thought you wanted your mother to try and take a more active role in her granddaughter's life. You felt this was a sign that she really was trying to turn over a new leaf, as you put it." He paused. "But I also have no qualms about leaving and going to get Ada and bringing her home right now, if that's what you want."

Amy turned to looked at him then. "No. As I told you, I believe very strongly that both Ada and my mother deserve the opportunity to have a relationship. I will never deny either of them that." Then she turned back toward the window and said softly, "But she never once took me to a book store when I was young."

"That's because we were raised in the eighties. Before everything had to be structured and scheduled, with names. There were no play dates for us, there was just -" he raised the pitch of his voice - "'you're driving me crazy with all your science gibberish, go outside and play in the street like a normal boy.' Now there are special events at book stores just for two-year-olds, because they are apparently incapable of enjoying it otherwise." Sheldon wondered if that was the correct response, the right tactic to take, or if she would be frustrated that he replied so lightly.

But Amy turned and smiled softly at him, and Sheldon relaxed. "Do you want to watch a movie or something?"

"No. Maybe later."

"You could take a long nap," Sheldon suggested. "I'll put Ada down when she gets back."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Book Club?"

Amy raised her eyebrows. "In the middle of the afternoon? You don't like that. You _like_ everything structured and scheduled with names in capital letters."

Sheldon shrugged. "Maybe I'm taking my mother's advise."

"Oh, do you want to have it outside, on the sidewalk benches? That's as close to the middle of the street as I recommend."

"Don't push it, little lady."

Amy laughed and swung her legs off the footstool. To Sheldon, it a wonderful sound, the sound of her melancholy leaving. Closing his work, he followed Amy to the sofa, the most frequent spot for their book discussions.

"So,  _The Joy Luck Club_?" he prompted.

"Yes," Amy nodded. "I picked it because . . . huh."

"What?"

She took a breath. "I picked it because I've never read any Amy Tan; she's very popular, very well respected, and a Californian writer. I thought I should read at least one of her books. And this is widely considered her best. But . . . well . . . it's about mothers and daughters, isn't it?"

"Indeed. There was a plethora of estrogen wafting from its pages," Sheldon added, hoping to keep it light, hoping to keep Amy's dark thoughts at bay. "But it's not just about that, you know. It's about cultural transitioning, immigrant identity, and miscommunication."

"I know." Amy nodded. "It's hard to understand some of it, not being an immigrant myself or the first-generation child of one. There are so many experiences that we just take for granted, that we don't even think about. That's probably not good."

"I don't know." Sheldon shrugged. "Maybe that's the goal all immigrants are striving for, hoping for their children. To not have to think about it. We're a nation of immigrants, of people who left things behind."

"Yes, we're a nation of immigrants, but while reading this book I was thinking how much better it is now, when it seems - at least to me, looking in from the outside as it were - that immigrants are more proud of their heritage than when this book took place. The daughters in this book were never taught to speak Chinese, for example. How sad. And look at all the miscommunications it led to, not having the right words, the right connotations, not being able to understand the subtleties of language and the stories that were told."

"You have to remember that all the daughters were little girls in the 1950s. Only a decade after World War II, a decade after the internment camps. Even though they're Chinese, not Japanese, I'm certain many people at the time weren't bothering to learn the difference," Sheldon pointed out.

"This is so depressing," Amy said softly.

"It was a depressing situation. And a depressing book," Sheldon said.

Amy looked up at him. "You didn't like it?"

"Not especially. It was too depressing." He licked his lips. "Did you like it?"

"Yes, very much. But I can't explain it to you. Is that strange?"

"Extremely."

Amy smiled. "I know. But it's true. I guess it's about people who love each other, who have inescapable bonds, but don't actually like each other."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Do you think they wanted to escape?"

"At least some of them. At least part of the time. Waverly should escape her mother, that woman was horrible, poisoning her against everything she loved."

Taking a deep breath, Sheldon started to speak, to cross the bridge he'd been avoiding, "Amy, are you talking about -"

"Food," Amy interrupted him.

"Food?" he asked, startled.

"They still cooked and ate and enjoyed Chinese food. They gathered around the food. Food was the connection."

"Oh, yes, I guess so." Sheldon was flummoxed by this turn in conversation. Had Amy sensed what he was about to ask, was this her way of telling him that she didn't want to discuss it? At least not now, with Ada out there, alone with Amy's mother?

"When I was . . . seven . . ." Focusing in the middle distance, Amy looked away and her voice became dreamy, "there was a several month period of time that Aunt Flora started to do something everything Monday evening. I don't remember what, bridge or something. Anyway, she wasn't there when I got home for school, the neighbor lady was, and she didn't leave a hot dinner for Mother and I to eat when she arrived home, invariably late, from the newspaper." Amy turned back suddenly. "Did I ever tell you that Mother can't cook? She's awful at it, she burns everything. Flora did all the cooking. I helped and she taught me."

Sheldon nodded, having been told about - and having benefitted from - Aunt Flora's cooking lessons.

Amy's face softly rotated again, as she resumed her story. "But Mother makes the best grilled cheese sandwich. It's a complete fluke, it's the only thing she can make other than cereal and it's wonderful. Tons of cheese, so gooey and stringy. Much better than Aunt Flora's. The first Monday she put Spaghetti-O's in a pan, went to take off her work clothes, and they burned." Amy chuckled softly. "After we had opened all the windows and had to throw the whole pan in the trash outside, she told me to go ahead and put on my nightgown and she'd make grilled cheese. When I came back, she put the plates in the living room, and she said we could eat there and watch _Jeopardy!_ " Even as Sheldon raised his eyebrows, Amy continued, "That was never allowed of course. I guess she felt guilty or something, it was so late. Anyway, we sat on the sofa together, in our nightgowns, eating grilled cheese, watching  _Jeopardy!_ And then when the sandwiches were eaten, I leaned against her and she took my hand. The next week, she didn't even try anything other than grilled cheese. Every Monday for months, grilled cheese in our nightgowns,  _Jeopardy!,_  and she held my hand."

Sheldon cleared his throat. "You liked it?" he whispered.

His wife turned to him, not with the watery eyes he expected, but with a smile. "Yes. It's one of my fondest memories."

Smiling back, Sheldon asked, "Do you want to know one of mine?"

After Amy nodded, he said, "The grocery store. George and Missy weren't allowed to go, except in rare instances. They would run and scream and demand cookies and candy. But I would sit in the cart and do the math. I would add up how much everything cost, figure in the sales tax, and occasionally Mom would ask how much she'd spent. There was a budget. Or sometimes she'd ask which was a better value, and I'd divide the total cost by the portions and give her the unit cost." He shrugged. "It was so easy, you see, it just happened in my mind without trying, the numbers just aligned themselves. I could have done it while running around and screaming. But it was just me and Mom, and I knew if I sat still and did it, we could be alone together."

"What a great story," Amy said softly.

"And there was laundry. We'd fold it together at the dining room table. I liked making the folds straight, counting the clothes, adjusting the heights of the piles - oh," Sheldon stopped abruptly.

"What?" Amy prompted.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I shouldn't list all of them, because . . . well . . . " He put out his hand in a hopeless gesture. It wasn't fair, was it?, to mention several happy memories when Amy only had this one, these handful of brief evenings her mother wanted to hold her hand.

"Wait here," Amy said, jumping off the sofa.

Sheldon sat, surprised, as he listened to her go down the hallway and rummage in the weird little closet at the end where they kept rarely used items. Coming back, she carried the archival-quality box she had bought to put the few things she had got from Aunt Flora when she passed away. She lifted out items Sheldon had seen before: Flora's well tattered _Joy of Cooking_  with notes in the margins that Amy said was too frail to actually use in the kitchen, some paperwork, a pair of gloves that Flora wore long after ladies stopped wearing gloves, a few other pieces of ephemera. At the bottom, Amy pulled out an envelope, yellowed with age.

"I didn't show you these. Because my mother hates them. She would die if she knew I had them, let alone if you saw them." Opening the envelope, Amy took out a photograph and handed it to him. It was also fading, the colors strange, no quite real anymore, like an Instagram filter.

He looked down at the scene. The beach, the edge of a blanket in the foreground. Several feet away, just where the surf was rolling in, the backs of two people, holding hands. A little girl, in a neon orange swimsuit and a woman in a old-fashioned looking swim dress. Both with the same pale skin, the little girl's hair the color of mud, the woman's hair, glimmering and glinting in the sun, an unusual combination of gold and red and caramel. That came through, even though the rest of photo was fading. Sheldon sucked in his breath. That color, he knew it well.

"This is your mother? In a swimsuit? At the beach?"

Nodding, Amy leaned closer to look herself. "Mother loves to swim. She's who taught me to swim; I never had formal lessons. We used to go sometimes on Sundays. Usually just the two of us. But Flora went that day and took pictures. All of these before my mother know she had brought her camera."

"Her hair," Sheldon said. "Even in the picture, it . . . it's like radium. Like Ada's. It doesn't sparkle like that now."

"Oh, no," Amy laughed, "she's dyed it for years now, don't you know? She can get the shade close, but not the same highlights. You can't get that from a bottle. But she'll probably dye it until the day she dies. She's always been vain about her hair, she knows it was her crowning glory. Quite literally. There are pictures of her as a teenager, it so long, down to her waist."

"Then why did she cut it?" Sheldon asked, looking at the hair in the photo that barely grazed his mother-in-law's shoulders. It was still that length.

"It could have been the style. Long hair in the seventies when she was a teenager, but everyone went short in the eighties," Amy said, dismissively.

Sheldon looked up at her. "You don't believe that."

"No." Amy looked down, quickly. Then she whispered, "It was her scarlet letter, I think. She cut it while she was pregnant."

"Oh, Amy, I -"

"No, it's okay," Amy said, looking back up. "Happy memories, remember? Nothing depressing like the book. Here, look at the rest. It's strange to me now; I always thought of my mother as an old woman, and then I look at these and she was so young, only in her twenties when I was little."

Sheldon took the short stack of photos. The swimmers were further out now, turned toward each other, Amy splashing her mother. Cynthia Fowler's arms were up, to try and block the water, but she was smiling. Actually, really, smiling. In the next photo, there were just a couple of heads visible above the water, smaller and further away. Then they were walking back, holding hands again, Cynthia looking down at little Amy, Amy looking up at her, and they were smiling at each other again, clearly having a wonderful time.

These photos seemed so bizarre to him. They were like nothing he'd ever seen before. Not just his mother-in-law smiling and wearing so few clothes, not even her unexpected beauty - she was stunning here - but the intimacy, the joy. He felt a bit intrusive, like he was stealing a private moment. He understood why his mother-in-law didn't want these photos to be seen.

He flipped to the last one. Different than the others, obviously posed. Amy with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, clutching it tightly. Cynthia had covered up her bathing suit with some sort of white, long sleeved flowing tunic. They were standing next to each other, Cynthia's arm around Amy in the hesitant way he had seen in other photographs, with that insincere, tight smile that he always thought was the only one she ever made before today. Amy wasn't smiling.

"I take it this was after you mother discovered the camera," Sheldon said. "You look unhappy here."

Amy leaned over. "Because they'd fought, Mother and Flora, about the other pictures. I always hated that."

She reached out for the pictures, and Sheldon handed them back. As she rearranged the box, she said, "I guess these pictures are what I wanted to explain to you about the book. Near the end, Ying-Ying talks about being a mother. That to be a mother and also a daughter, those connections are unique in the world. You were carried by someone else and then you carry someone who will one day, maybe, carry her own daughter. It's a connection, a unbroken string of giving yourself so fully the creation of another person." Amy shrugged. "I don't know, maybe males feel that way, too, about their fathers and sons. The daughters in this book do not yet understand what joy luck is - they say it is not a word, because it does not exist in English. But, really, they don't understand because they are not yet mothers themselves. Joy luck is about making the best out of the circumstances you find yourself in when you become a mother." Then she added, with finality, "I did not fully understand these pictures at the beach until I become a mother."

Amy leaned forward and sat the box on the coffee table. Sheldon looked at her, in something between amazement and confusion. She had obviously said something so profound, something he could tell that she had discovered and that had given her peace, and yet . . . "Amy, I don't understand."

"I know," she said softly, turning her green eyes to him.

Sheldon understood then that it was not meant for him to understand, not fully. He was being left out, as he was meant to be left out. He was not part of this unbroken string of mothers and daughters. That didn't lessen his importance, to his mother, to Amy, to Ada, but he was important in a different way. Amy could not replicate his importance to Ada and he could not replicate hers. When he had read the ancient Chinese definition of ying and yang in this book, he had thought it sounded sexist and he had been waiting for Amy to rail against it. But perhaps there was another definition: the balancing act of parenting together, the gifts and guidance they each brought for their daughter. He believed that because he was present to help, there would more happy memories for Ada, that she wouldn't have to hide them in a box in the closet until they stopped confusing her.

"Would you . . . would you like me to digitize those photos for you?" he asked, hesitant. "And then you would have them to share with Ada?"

"Oh, Sheldon . . . yes," Amy whispered. Again, she didn't cry, she just looked at him with so much love it hurt.

Then the buzzer sounded, the harsher one that meant someone was in the vestibule downstairs. Sheldon silently cursed it, the spell of . . . whatever this had become . . . broken. Amy got up and went to the intercom. "Hello?"

"It's your mother, dear. And Ada, of course," came back the staticy voice.

"Come on up." Amy pressed the button and turned toward Sheldon. "Maybe we should give her the code? All our friends have it."

"I think we should give her Stuart and Raj's code instead."

Amy smiled but put her finger to her lips. She opened the door to their home, and Sheldon came to join her as they both listened for the elevator to stop and open on their floor.

"Mama!" They heard Ada running before they saw her, and then they were both at the door.

Sheldon begrudgingly felt impressed. Ada was still in one piece, including her hair which always befuddled him. Cynthia Fowler looked as posed and draconian as ever, no signs upon her immaculate clothing that she had just spent two hours with a two-year-old. How did she do it? And he still struggled to reconcile this immaculate woman in front of him with that photograph of a smiling, happy, bathing-suit clad beauty.

Ada was hugging Amy, who had bent down. "Did you have a good time, sweetheart?"

"Grandma bought me books!"

Cynthia handed over a green plastic bag to Sheldon. "I hope that's acceptable."

Sheldon nodded, taking the sack, but Amy answered, "Of course. We love books, don't we, Ada?"

"Yes!" Ada cheered, doing a little dance.

"Ada, do you have to use the bathroom?" Amy asked.

"Yes."

"Tell Grandmother good-bye and thank you. We'll use the bathroom and then go take our nap."

"But I don't want -"

"Ada," Sheldon said sharply, "you'll do what your mother says."

Chastised, Ada suddenly lunged and wrapped her body around Cynthia's legs. "Thank you, Grandma." Then his mother-in-law reached down and ran her hand lovingly through Ada's hair. Sheldon actually took a step back before Ada broke away from the tender moment with her grandmother, waved, and ran toward the bathroom. "Good-bye!"

"Good-bye, dear. It was lovely to see you." Cynthia Fowler waved back, as Amy and Ada disappeared down the hallway.

Sheldon now found himself in the extremely uncomfortable situation of being alone with his mother-in-law. Uncomfortable on the best of days, but now he felt like he knew all her secrets. Thank goodness his own mother had trained him well.

"Uh," he shut the door. "Would you like a hot beverage?"

"Yes, thank you."

Sheldon walked to the kitchen, sat the bag of books on the island, and put the tea kettle on. He got down the tea caddy and set it in front of Cynthia, who was standing next to the island. "Please, have a seat."

Cynthia eyed the stool wearily.

"Would you prefer the dining table? I can bring your tea there," Sheldon asked.

"No, no, this is fine, I'm sure." She sat down rather stiffly. "I know this is terribly rude of me, but I don't suppose you have any coffee?"

"I don't do any drugs, including stimulants such as caffeine, as a promise to my mother," Sheldon answered.

"Of course. I remember that, now."

"Um," Sheldon hated this, it was getting worse by the minute, "we have hot cocoa."

"That would be delightful, thank you."

Practically diving into the pantry, Sheldon pretended he was looking for the hot cocoa even though he knew exactly where it was. The stirring of the tea kettle pulled him out. "Got it!" he said, his voice falsely high.

His mother-in-law just nodded. Sheldon set to work mixing her hot cocoa and his own tea. Sitting the steaming mug in front of her, he decided to remain standing, on the other side of the island. It seemed safer that way.

"I hope Amy doesn't have trouble getting Ada down for a nap. I didn't give her any caffeine. Although we had lemonade at Panera. I hope that's acceptable. When Amy was a child, McDonald's was the standard treat of choice. I would allow her French fries and Coke with her Happy Meal. I understand that's frowned upon these days."

Yet another new thing Sheldon had to try to wrap his mind around: his mother-in-law at McDonald's. It seemed so incongruent with the woman sitting before him. And Amy never mentioned going there with her mother. "Did you take her there often?"

Cynthia shook her head. "No. It was a treat. Flora took her occasionally. As I'm sure Amy has told you, I worked a great deal." She paused and frowned. "I regret that now. I missed so much of her childhood."

Shifting slightly on his feet, Sheldon took an overly long drink of his tea. The last person on Earth he wanted to discuss feelings with was the woman sitting across from him.

"Chick-fil-a," he said.

"Pardon?"

"Amy prefers Chick-fil-a as a fast food option for Ada, if necessary. Although she feels conflicted about their pseudo-religious business practices, she believes the menu contains healthier options. Kids meals options include organic fruit cups and cinnamon apple sauce. She pays extra for the free range grilled chicken nuggets. And skim milk to drink, of course. Chipotle is also an acceptable option but you have to made sure you request vegetables in the child's cheese quesadilla."

"Of course. I'll remember that in the future. But what do you prefer?"

Sheldon started, almost spilling some tea as the mug came close to his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"You said Amy prefers Chick-fil-a. What do you prefer?" Her eyes were boring into him.

_Drat._  He should have been more careful with his word choice. Words, after all, were how his mother-in-law made her living. He considered lying. But she would probably see through that, too, given that Amy was always telling him he was a horrible liar. Maybe he could side-step the issue. "Well, I like a good French fry sometimes, too."

Cynthia smiled. Genuinely smiled. If he hadn't seen it in the photograph earlier, he wouldn't have believed it possible. Sheldon broke out in sweat. He had never seen that before today, and even when he saw it in the picture, he didn't think he'd ever see it in front of him.

"I know I promised Amy that there would be no more secrets," Cynthia said, still smiling, "but I think it won't hurt if I keep this little one for you, will it?"

Sheldon clenched the handle of his mug tighter. It was so much fun: Ada in her red booster seat, doing the puzzle on the side of the Happy Meal box together, sharing greasy French fries and ketchup with her . . . Could he do it, though? Could he make this pact?

"Maybe not," he mumbled into his mug of tea.

He was rescued by the sound of Amy's steps approaching. "That was easier than I expected. You must have wore her out, Mother," she said.

"She was an absolute delight, dear. So well behaved. Seeing her with the other two-year olds, I realized she has an extremely impressive vocabulary. You should be proud." Cynthia stood.

"Of course we're proud. She's the first of her kind," Sheldon answered.

His mother-in-law gave him a confused look. "I see." She turned back to Amy. "I should be leaving. Thank you again for the opportunity."

"Anytime, Mother," Amy answered.

Cynthia put her arms out, causing Sheldon to almost choke on his tea. He saw Amy's eyes widen in equal surprise. She stepped forwardly stiffly, and allowed her mother's arms to surround her.

"I love you all, dear," Cynthia said.

Amy's eyes met Sheldon's over her mother's shoulder. She mouthed some word he could not catch. He just shrugged and turned up his free palm in reply. He was just as confused and lost. Amy patted her mother's back. "You too, Mother."

Then Cynthia pulled away, and Amy walked her to the door. Sheldon relaxed back, resting against the edge of the countertop, as the last good-byes were said. After shutting the door, Amy walked over to him. He held out the mug of tea he had prepared for her when he made his own. She took it and stood next to him, leaning herself. They both leaned and stared into the great room in front of them.

"She hugged me," Amy said.

"She smiled at me," Sheldon said.

"Huh," they said in unison, both taking a drink of tea at the same time, both thinking of those Sundays on the beach.


	78. The Usual, Revisited

**The Usual, Revisited**

* * *

_Amy raised her eyebrows. "In the middle of the afternoon? You don't like that. You like everything structured and scheduled with names in capital letters."_

* * *

Usual [yoo-zhoo-uh]: adjective; 1) habitual or customary; 2) commonly met with or observed in experience, ordinary; 3) commonplace, everyday.

_Dimension: noun; extension in a given direction._  
_41% bridal Amy_  
_12% pregnant Amy  
_ _47% maternal Amy_

His bride. Everything was firm and taut and smooth. He loved running his cheek over the planes of her body, memorizing their creamy, warm features, learning her reactions. It surprised him, then, just how much he desired her physically. He had loved her mind for so long, he thought it wasn't possible to love anything else about her as much.

Oh, God!, pregnant Amy! She was majestic. She ripened and rounded before his very eyes. Loving her was an exercise in geometry and worship. He loved to run his hands along her changing features, measuring the growing diameters with his palm, every radius different, steeper, more beautiful than the last time he touched her. He had loved her body for so long, he thought it wasn't possible to love it any more. He was wrong.

The mother of his child. Another change. Things were softer and slacker. Gravity had tugged on her body. She was self-conscious, he knew. Twice, at the last second, he remembered stories from Howard and Leonard about commenting on their wife's weight. He managed to hold his tongue; instead he used it to trace those extra pounds, those stretch marks. Her medals of honor, her badges of courage, the scars of what she had done for him. It was better that way, and not just to avoid the sleeping on the couch as he had been warned about. He loved her so much, for so long, he had ran out of verbal ways to tell her how much more he desired her now than ever.

_Approach vector: noun; a course suggested or instigated by an object to allow the object to rendezvous with a designated target.  
_ _57% getting into bed nude (either party)  
_ _18% deepening the kiss (either party); subsets: 06% including touching the buttons on her cardigan or blouse, 02% including her hands running under my shirts  
_ _15% Amy running her finger along the helix of my ear_  
10% verbal indication of desire (either party)

It was idea he had struck on years ago ( _years! has it been years now?_ ), when he had been too shy and embarrassed to actually ask for it. And, if he were being honest, there had a been a couple of weeks there, at first, when the last thing he thought about in association with bed was sleep. The fewer barriers, the faster he could be naked, the better. Now, it was established and simple and gave no room for confusion.

But, he had to admit, as much as he loved her cardigans, nothing was better than slowly peeling one off of her. There had a been a phase, early in their marriage, when she sometimes wore sweater vests instead. He hated them; it was not sexy to remove a sweater vest. After the fire, he noticed she never bought another.

The ear thing caused some sort of Pavlovian response in him, and even now the very thought of it sent prickles through his body. Prickles that had the power to tear him away from his favorite television show when they were sitting on the couch, power to make him forget the comic book he was trying to read before going to sleep, power to wake him up in the middle of the night.

_Decline: verb; to refuse with courtesy._  
_Note: Limited samples, probable skewed data, more study of phenomena required._  
_60% Amy smacking my hand away from her hip_  
_35% lack of eye contact, terse goodnight, and rolling away from me  
_ _05% I get up and move to another room_

Who was he kidding? He didn't want to study this phenomena in the least. Disturbed by the break in his eidetic memory, he couldn't remember why he'd ever say no.

_Trajectory: noun; the path described by an object moving under the influences of outside forces._  
_96% rolling or turning, in either direction (i.e. rotation)_  
_03% rushing to the closest suitable surface together  
_ _01% Amy stalks me from the foot of the bed_

Just thinking about the stalking made his heart race. Rarely (as 1% of the time indicates), and most commonly if she was tipsy, Amy would stand at the end of the bed and pull the blankets down, down, down, clawing at them. Then she would give him a look he never saw anywhere else, her emerald eyes flashing like he was prey. Wow, it was good. Next, she would lean over and arch her back at the same time, prowling toward him, watching him, like a cat, her breasts swinging, hypnotizing him. No, it wasn't good, it was hot. Sometimes she said his name as she slinked forward, and it came out like a cross between a purr and snake's hiss. Fiery hot. Only since the babymoon would she sometimes pause halfway to his lips, dipping her head down to . . . Dear Lord. She wouldn't, of course, finish the job, he still didn't like the mess, but just a little bit until his mind was blown. Pun fully intended. She would rise up, give him the devilish smirk of a predator, and proceed on her painfully slow, stealthy course until she was close enough she could devour him hungrily -

Sheldon snapped upright and marched to the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked from her computer.

"I just need a drink of water." Very, very cold water.

_Position: noun; the arrangement or disposition of the body or a part of the body._  
_61% missionary_  
_29% Amy on top; subset: 08% includes sitting upright  
_ _10% spooning_

He liked looking down at her, his face very close to her completely relaxed one, watching her just taking and enjoying. If he wasn't watching her, he liked resting his cheek against hers and occasionally whispering in her ear. He liked the feel of her hands on his back, her fingernails running down his spine, the way her hands gripped his buttocks. Most of all, he liked that she was his alone in those moments, that he was keeping her all to himself. At first it was so natural he hadn't thought about it; but then after she assumed control one night he wondered if those thoughts were too possessive, if she would be offended by them. And, of course, he could so rarely bring her to climax this way. But she continued to pull him over her when it could have easily gone the other way. Finally, after months, he had asked her. She said something about being his pearl, which was just the sort of sentimental nonsense that he loved/hated to hear her say. Especially when she was right. Freed from his worries, it remained his favorite without doubts; she was his pearl and he was polishing her, and he didn't care how very trite that sounded.

_Velocity: noun; rapidity of motion or operation; swiftness; speed._  
_70% one to three on a scale of ten_  
_25% six to eight on a scale of ten_  
_05% maximum speed_   


Slow and gentle. Once he was there he was no desire to end it too quickly.

Amy, though, like to speed things up when she was in control. She pressed harder, deeper, she moved quicker, with greater variations. Not rough (usually), just not as sedate. This was, he knew, necessary for her, and the look on her face when it happened, when she brought herself to where she wanted to be and he could let go and join her there . . . that moment was perfect.

As for the remaining five percent, it was the spice known as variety. Or, more often since Ada was born, lack of time.

_Vocalizations: noun, plural; to make vocal; utter; articulate; sing.  
_ _100% of instances_

Once, he had imagined coitus with Amy would be silent and clinical. She would conduct herself in a controlled fashion, as she did with everything. But, no, coitus with Amy was full of noises. All of those sounds she made near him, because of him, so close to his ear - the breathing, the panting, the gasps, the mewling, the whispers - he loved them all.

Or, perhaps, he had once imagined, that she would moan instead, progressively louder, and then scream and slap things. Granted, this idea came from watching a rerun of  _When Harry Met Sally._  But she didn't, not usually. She sucked in all the air she could gather and let it out in a series of high notes. It was pure and clean.

Sometimes, though, it was different. Rarely there was tremble. Sometimes it was deep, almost a groan, that seemed to rise out of her. Best of all, sometimes it was his name.

_Frequency: noun; the number of items occurring in a given category._  
_Category BA (before Ada): approximate 3.7 times a week.  
_ _Category AA (after Ada): approximate 1.5 times a week._

What was there to say about that? Nothing. Both categories felt natural in their respective times.

_Duration: noun; the length of time something continues or exists._  
_Untested; dissent on meaning._   


He had never timed it. Before it, there was only desire. During it, he felt like he began and ended there, in a continuous cycle of bliss. After it, it always felt too short.

Additionally, what counted as  _it_? Actual coitus, yes, but what about all those soul stirring things that came before? Touching her, loving her, being buried in her skin? And those serene moments afterwards, holding her, falling asleep around her?

Sheldon glanced at Amy across the large partner's desk she had picked out for them, which, like so many things Amy thought of, was the best idea he had ever known. Her face was lit by the screen, the text of her work reflecting off of her glasses. Looking back at his own screen, he pressed and held down the backspace key before typing again.

_Duration: forever._

"Sheldon, what are you working on?" Amy asked. "You keep looking at me, and now you're smiling."

"Uh, well, you know," he shrugged, wiping away the smile he didn't know was there, "the usual."

Amy looked at him quizzically, and he could almost see the gears in her mind turning. "Hmmmmm."

"Are you ready for bed?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I'm at a good stopping point."

"Good." He pressed the red dot in the corner of his screen.

_Do you want to keep this new document "Untitled"?_

He glanced quickly at Amy again, as she stood from her chair. He already had everything he needed.

_Delete._

"Shall we?" she put out her hand, an invitation. He took it.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	79. The Rosie Project

**_Thank you to the mystery guest reviewer who suggested this book several months ago. It took me awhile to get around to it, but the book was both a fun read and a fun play on the Shamy relationship._ **

**_As always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2020**

**Primary Topic: _The Rosie Project_  by Graeme Simsion**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Treatise of the Astrolabe_  by Geoffrey Chaucer**

* * *

"Ada, don't touch that!"

But it was too late; the tower of Jenga blocks fell and scattered on the dining room table with a thunderous crash. Amy got up from her computer and walked over to grab Ada's hand, snapping, "What are you doing? I asked you play quietly with your dolls for ten minutes! Just ten minutes!"

Ada assumed the position of shamed children everywhere, her chin lowered, hiding her blue eyes behind her eyelashes, and her lower lip sticking out. "I just wanted to look at it."

Amy sighed deeply. "Since when does looking at something involve your hands and not just your eyes? That is - was - Daddy and Mama's game! What is the rule about touching things that don't belong to you?!"

"Ask first," Ada said, her little voice quivering, on the edge of tears.

"Oh, Ada." Amy sat in a dining chair and picked up her pajama clad daughter. She ran her hand along Ada's still damp hair and tried to quiet to her voice. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. Sometimes Mama needs to learn to control her temper, too. But, yes, the rule is that we do not touch things that do not belong to us without asking permission first. And rules are meant to be followed, not broken. Now you've made Mama sad. And Mama and Daddy will never find out who wins."

"Daddy will be sad, too?" Ada asked.

_Such a Daddy's girl._  Squeezing her tighter, Amy said. "Yes, Daddy will be sad when he finally gets home."

"I miss Daddy."

Amy smiled softly and kissed Ada's cheek. "Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too."

Single mothers were persons that one had a lot of respect for, but no real understanding of, until one was forced to live as a single mother for almost a week. Amy was exhausted. Sheldon, Leonard, and Raj were in New Jersey, at a conference at Princeton, and she was counting the hours until her husband returned late tomorrow night. And there was no Aunt Flora for her, to swoop in and do the dirty work for her, the drudgery and exhaustion and temper-flaring events that were life with a two year old. Every day it had gotten worse; it took twice as long to do anything, Ada constantly peppered her with questions, there was a huge fight about her clothes this morning without a referee (suddenly Ada's favorite tunic was 'too itchy' to wear anymore, tearfully so), and she seemed to be testing the limits of Amy's permissiveness. Whether it was conscious or not, Amy was not certain. What she was certain of, and she had never truly realized this in so many words before, was that Sheldon was an incredibly patient man. When and how had that happened? No question asked in a small voice was too unimportant that he wouldn't answer it, there were very few tasks he was unwilling to share with a little helper around, and his firm commands clearly communicated that there would be no arguments when he issued a decision.

Like tonight, for instance. He normally kept Ada occupied after her bath so that Amy could do the late evening chores such as paying the bills. Certainly, if Ada had ruined the Jenga game with him around, in clear violation of the rules, it would be an offense worthy of a strike. Amy sighed deeply again. It was really too late, with too little time, to have the strike conversation. And, frankly, she was just too tired to deal with any probable meltdown.

"Ada," she said instead, "as you are aware, there must be consequences for inappropriate behaviors. Do you feel that Mama not reading to you this evening is suitable punishment?"

"Okay," Ada whispered. "But -" she turned around quickly, her big blue eyes finally looking up "- I still get to talk to Daddy?"

"Of course." Amy smiled to reassure her. No misdeed was severe enough that she would ever deny Ada her father; it pained her to even think of that. "In fact, I believe it's probably time to call him."

Hopping down before Amy could ask, Ada was already rushing to Amy's computer. "Let me do it!"

"Go ahead," Amy said, following her.

"Siri, call Daddy!" Ada said it too loudly, more like a yell, but Siri chimed and opened FaceTime.

"Awaiting parental approval," she said, blandly.

"Call Sheldon," Amy said, sitting back in her desk chair, reaching down to pull Ada up again.

"Mama, why does Siri say that?" Ada asked as the computer started the call.

"Because you're a child, and we've programmed Siri to only allow to you do cert - look! there he is!"

"Daddy!"

"Good evening, ladies."

"Hello, Sheldon," Amy said, her heart puffing up. Always so handsome, his exceptional looks had recently been improved by the addition of a pair of glasses. The dark frames looked lovely with his hair and set off his beautiful eyes. Gosh, she missed him so much.

"Hey!" Leonard's face swam into view behind Sheldon's head. "Thought I'd say hi before I go to my own room."

"Hello, Leonard." Then Amy leaned down to whisper, "Say hello."

"Hi, Uncle Leonard," Ada said.

"Goodnight, cutie. I'm off to call Aunt Penny and the munchkins. Good to see you guys!" He waved and left the screen. Sheldon's head turned to watch him go.

"How are my ladies?" Sheldon asked, turning back. "Are you behaving, Miss Ada?"

Amy's breath caught. "Well, actually our Jenga match to determine who will take the cars in for their oil changes did not survive the evening."

"Ada, is this true?" Sheldon leaned in closer.

"Yes. I'm sorry." The hangdog expression had returned.

"Don't worry, Sheldon, I've handled it," Amy said quickly.

"If you've been suitably disciplined, then the matter is resolved," Sheldon said, sitting back. "Now, which mollusks did you learn about today in school?"

It never ceased to impress Amy how interested Sheldon was in Ada's weekly educational schedule that was sent via email. It was expected that he'd memorize it after a quick read, but he often also had comments about it, despite the fact it was so far beneath his intelligential capacity. Amy read it, too, of course, but there were times she struggled to remember exactly what the topic of the week was. But not this week. "It's Pacific ocean week, not mollusk week."

"But all the animals listed were invertebrates. I agree the name of the week is misnamed as there are thousands of marine creatures that are not invertebrates; remind me to discuss this with her teacher when I return." His eyes shifted on screen, back to Ada. "Ada, which animal was it today?"

"Octopus. They have suction cups on their arms and hands!" Ada held up her own small hands, fingers splayed to make her point. Amy smiled at Sheldon and he smiled back.

"Yes, they do. And what are octopus arms called?" Amy queried.

"Tentacles."

"Very good. Did you learn they have three hearts?" Amy asked.

Ada nodded.

"And that in the Marvel universe, there is a Hydra agent named Kraken that has the ability to breathe underwater?" Sheldon asked.

"No," Ada said, leaning forward on Amy's lap. Amy lifted her and shifted her slightly to keep her bony little rear end from poking her as much.

"Hmmm. I'll see what I can find. I believe in one of the battles between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra -" he answered.

"Sheldon, I don't deem this an appropriate juncture in our successor's space-time continuum for such a subject," Amy said, warning in her voice. It was the phrase Amy used in front of Ada to remind Sheldon that she was too young for something. It was working, for now; but at the rate Ada's vocabulary was growing, she was uncertain how long it would be useful. But Sheldon raised his eyebrows slightly, and she knew he understood.

As if reading her mind, Ada asked, "Why do you say that sometimes?"

"It means it's time for all little girls to go to bed," Amy answered.

"But I want to talk to Daddy more!" Ada whined.

"Ada Fowler Cooper, listen to your mother. No whining." There it was, his stern voice, the powerful one Amy envied.

"Okkkkay. Goodnight, Daddy. I miss you!"

Amy smiled at Sheldon's face as it softened and warmed on the screen. "Goodnight, Ada. I love and miss you, too."

Then Ada lifted up her hand, kissed her palm, and swept her hand away with an exaggerated puckering sound. She was blowing him a kiss. Amy couldn't help it, she laughed. Where had she learned that? Sheldon's eyebrows went up in surprise for a second, but then he put a hand up and closed it into a fist. "Thank you, Ada. I'll keep it safe and give it back to you when I see you again. Goodnight."

She hated to break this moment up, the two of them so wonderful together, but rules were rules. Plus she and Sheldon had something else to do tonight. She said softly, "Come on, Ada. And, Sheldon?, I'll call you back in a bit."

"I'm looking forward to it." Then he waved to them as they got up and left.

* * *

Most of the time, Ada could be incredibly sweet. Like the kiss-blowing at her father. Like snuggling with her in bed, just for a few minutes, even without the added joys of reading. In the dark, they had laid side-by-side on Ada's narrow bed, looking up at the glow in the dark constellation stickers Sheldon and Raj had installed even before she was born. Amy told her the story of the star Sirius, and recited some of Chaucer's work on the astrolabe, in which he called it Alhabor. Surely a scientific treatise in Middle English wasn't the same as reading a story? And it had the added benefit of putting Ada rapidly to sleep. Amy didn't even realize she was still smiling softly as she sat back down at her computer to call Sheldon back. It rang longer than she expected, and his eyebrows were raised when he answered.

"So soon?"

"And here I was thinking you were looking forward to it."

"I am. It just took less time than I'm expected. I don't even have my pajama shirt on yet." Sure enough, Amy could just make the pale divot of his suprasternal notch.

"You could leave it off, you know," she smirked.

"It's not that type of phone call. Wait a second."

Amy chuckled as the view shifted to the ceiling. She heard shuffling, and then then some rapid movement on the screen until Sheldon's face had returned as he settled against the headboard of his hotel room bed, his plaid pajama top securely buttoned.

"Sheldon, thank you for staying up so late. I know it's after your bedtime there."

"It's not as significant as you might think. The talks do not start until ten, which I don't understand, but it's allowed me to reset my internal chronometer by only one hour instead of three. Unfortunately, it has given Leonard cause to mock me for sleeping in."

Smiling, Amy leaned forward toward the screen. "Another reason to appreciate your sacrifices."

"It's not a sacrifice to say goodnight to you two." Before Amy could say anything too sentimental, Sheldon prompted. "So, Book Club?"

"I thought this was a very strange choice for you, Sheldon. I didn't expect it at all."

"Why not? It's seeking to explain the steps to mate selection scientifically. Seems perfectly reasonable."

"But why now? You already have a mate. Are you getting the seven year itch early?" Amy leaned back and crossed her arms.

"What is the seven year itch?"

"I'll tell you in three years, when we've been married for eight."

"Neither three or eight is seven."

"Exactly," she smirked.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows but then shook his head slightly. "Well, you don't need to worry about whatever it is you're worried about. The entire conclusion of this experiment is flawed."

"Why? Don sets out to find a mate, and he accomplishes just that task. It seems like he was successful to me," Amy said.

"But Rosie was all wrong for him."

"I think it was meant to be one of those opposites attract situations," Amy explained.

Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Please. I don't believe in such nonsense. It would be like if Penny and I had a relationship. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Not to mention disgusting. Who would ever believe that? You've seen her housekeeping skills."

Amy chuckled, trying to imagine Penny and Sheldon together. Nope, it just wouldn't happen. Not even in some strange alternate universe. "Oh, come on, Sheldon. Penny's a wonderful person. And beautiful. Obviously, Leonard agrees."

"His brain is smaller than mine. I thought we'd established that."

Still smiling, Amy asked, "Am I to presume you didn't like the book, because you thought the outcome was flawed?"

He shrugged. "It was okay. I thought it started well, especially when Don discussed the traditional dating paradigm, that the probability of success did not justify the effort and negative experiences."

"Is that why you didn't date before you met me?" Amy asked.

"No." Sheldon shook his head. "I didn't date because I didn't need a mate. I was perfectly satisfied with my existence as it was."

"But 'emotions have their own logic,'" Amy quoted.

Her husband titled his head. "Yes, it seems they do." He paused. "Amy, were you attempting to pursue a romantic relationship with me when we first met? Despite your comments about coitus being off the table and my firm resolve that you would only ever be my friend who is a girl, not my girlfriend?"

Amy looked down, recalling the Sheldon she had met. Recalling the Amy he had met. "No, not at first. I was just thrilled to have a friend who was as intelligent as me, who enjoyed my conversion, who understood me, someone who just let me be myself."

"'If you really love someone, you have to be prepared to accept them as they are,'" Sheldon said. "When did it change, your desires?"

"'By any standard, Amy is more similar to me than anyone I've ever met.' It made me think that perhaps you had considered it, if you were thinking about us together in some fashion. And you?" Amy bravely asked.

"A better question would be when I admitted it. Because now, looking back, especially if we accept the parameters of the sentence I just quoted, I suspect it may have been with the words 'tepid water,'" Sheldon said softly. Then, before Amy could point out what a sentimental old fool he was, he reached up and adjusted his glasses. He was constantly touching them, she had noticed, still not adapted to them.

"Sheldon?" Amy looked down for a brief span of time before looking back up.

"Yes?"

"Was there ever a time you seriously considered Penny as a possible mate? She's more fun and kinder and far more beautiful than I am -"

"What a silly question! Of course not. Did you not listen to everything I just said?" Sheldon snorted.

"I wouldn't be upset if you had. I can understand it. You knew her first. And there was perhaps a time, early in my friendship with Penny, in which I would have considered an experimental lesbian -"

"Amy! What has gotten into you?" Sheldon had picked up his iPad and was holding it closer to his face, his brows furrowed. "Are you alright? Do I need to fly home early?"

"No," Amy shook her head. "I said there was a time, not right now. Obviously I'm monogamous to you."

Sheldon waved a hand. "That's not what I meant. I was fully aware you were intrigued by the possibilities of sexual experimentation with Penny then, and I am confident in the nature of our marriage now. But why do you think that Penny is funnier or kinder or more beautiful than you?"

"Because she is, Sheldon. Look at her, an actress and everything. And even when she's not acting, she's so relaxed. I've struggled all week with Ada, and I haven't heard a single complaint from her, even though she has two children and they are even younger!" Amy sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from. We're supposed to be talking about the book. Never mind."

"Amy, what's been going on at home? You said you've struggled all week." Sheldon's voice had quieted, a hush now.

"It's just hard without you, that's all. There's more to do and no one to help since Rajesh is out there with you and Stuart has been at the store in the evenings. I also think Ada is testing me, perhaps to determine if I'm as strict or as consistent in my discipline as you are." Amy frowned. "And I'm not. I realized this week, Sheldon, that you're a better parent than I am. You have more patience when you explain things to her, you're more willing to sit down with her and teach her something new and -"

"Stop," Sheldon said firmly. "It doesn't make you a bad parent because it's hard to do it alone. And you're completely overestimating my skill set." Sheldon leaned back against the headboard, the angle changing as the iPad was lowered onto his lap. "I find fatherhood a massive struggle. You say I have patience when I explain things to her, but it's extremely difficult to try and break complex ideas down for her. And sometimes I don't want to sit down and play with her or teach her; I just want to be left alone to work on something else. Ada is very different that you in that regard, probably because of her maturity level; you always understand when I need my time alone to think and respect that without explanation." He took a deep breath. "I envy you. I am under no illusions: you are the one holding this parenting thing together. You always see the big picture when you talk to her and think about choices for her; I seem to only grasp the immediate. Just earlier this evening, you realized that perhaps the struggle between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra was not suitable for a two year old, that it was too violent. And you're correct. But I was too busy trying to remember in which comic book Kraken first appeared. You think of all sorts of practical things like her clothes and her hair and what she's going to take in her lunch and if she's outgrowing her shoes." He paused and sighed. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to change the schedule, to take a half hour after her bath to spend time with her. I could prepare for it, plan for what we were going to do, I could clear my mind and my schedule. It was a half-hour that I would give her my undivided attention, because I so often feel like she's being crowded out by work and hobbies and other commitments. And I don't ever want her to feel that way." He ended his little speech with a soft shrug, looking down.

"Oh, Sheldon, you make it seem so effortless," Amy said, her eyes prickling. She felt ashamed that she had never noticed his struggle, that she had never realized that he actually was planning what activities he would share with Ada every evening. She had assumed it was serendipity, that he just let these learning-while-play times evolve naturally.

"Nothing is effortless for me. Except physics," Sheldon whispered. Then he looked up, a little smile on his face. "And talking to you. It was always easy to talk to you, from the very beginning."

Amy smiled and then laughed. "It just occurred to me that this is like when we first met. We're not in the same room, we can't touch, it's just your face and my face and our conversation. Only the topics have changed."

Sheldon grinned, too. "I did not ever think we'd be talking about our child back then." Then his face opened up. "Do you want some gossip? Since you've had a bad week?"

"Always," Amy said, intrigued, leaning forward eagerly on her hands.

"It might make you feel better about Penny's week alone. Apparently, Penny is in negotiations with SyFy to expand the miniseries she did into an actual series. So they hired a babysitter for the week. The whole week. Like a nanny." Sheldon sat back, satisfied with himself to be the revealer of this secret.

"What! Why didn't she say anything to me?" Amy was hurt. This was serious, this was potentially amazing news for her best friend. And Sheldon knew before her?

"As I said, it's supposed to be a secret. No one else knows. Leonard and I went out to dinner with Beverly, and he accidentally blurted it out when he was attempting to make a point to his mother. I have never understood why he cannot get along with her." Sheldon shook his head sadly.

"Wellll, maybe . . . " Amy said. It did explain Penny's cheerfulness on the phone earlier, her voice so breezy, as if she didn't have a care in the world. Because at that moment she didn't, childless and successful. And beautiful. And -

"Amy?" Sheldon said, interrupting her thoughts. "You've always been the only one for me. You've always been the only one who ever made me think I could be something other than a brain. You're the one who made me realize I had a heart, after all. And my heart only wanted you."

They shared a look, a look that had never transpired in all their earlier video chat sessions, a look that would have saved them a lot of time. But they were very different people then, and that reality was a universe away from where they were now. "Another world, another life, proximate but inaccessible." Amy brought her hand up, kissed it, and then blew across her palm to Sheldon.

Just like earlier, but with less surprise, he reached up took her virtual kiss, sent over the ether, sent over the miles, sent over the years, sent with love. "I think maybe I'll keep this one with me forever."

His face shifted, the brief glimpse of its soft edges sharpened. "Did you say that you feel Ada was testing the limits of your leniency?"

"Yeeessss, why?"

"Do you think it's possible that's she's -" he leaned in closer, his eyes glowing with excitement "- performing an experiment?"

Her shoulders hunching and her head titling back, Amy let out a long, full belly laugh. How very Sheldon! Sheldon joined her with his own catchy laugh, and it was wonderful to laugh with him like that, even so far apart, near the end of such a stressful week.

Sheldon tried to cover it, but as his laughter died down, he reached up and took off his new glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Sheldon, do you need your glasses adjusted?" she asked. "Or is this just too late for you?"

"I don't know. They're not painful. I just find it so . . . odd. This is terrible. I'm only forty. Why do I need reading glasses so early?" he ended in a grumble as he replaced his spectacles.

"I am not going to explain latent hyperopia to you. You're a physicist, and optics is a branch of physics. You should be able to confidently master the concept." She paused, remembering the painful moments in the optometrist's office. Ada's appointment had been a breeze by comparison. "Besides," she smirked, "I like them. They're quite fetching."

Sheldon looked back at her for a second, and then put the glasses back on. "But superheroes never wear glasses. And I'm meant to be a mental superhero. It's why I've been invited here."

"Clark Kent wore glasses."

"As a disguise, so no one would know he was Superman. Not because he needed them. Besides, Clark Kent wasn't the superhero," Sheldon pointed out.

"Maybe. But he was a more interesting character. Not to mention more handsome," Amy said.

"Handsome?"

She shrugged coyly, "I always had a little fantasy crush on him. Maybe it was the glasses." Then she leaned forward and whispered, "You know, I could move my end of the conversation over to the iPad and then over to the bedroom and we could start another topic that we certainly didn't attempt ten years ago."

"Amy! As I said before, it's not that type of phone call!"


	80. Fantasies

**Fantasies**

* * *

_"Clark Kent wore glasses."_

_"As a disguise, so no one would know he was Superman. Not because he needed them. Besides, Clark Kent wasn't the superhero," Sheldon pointed out._

_"Maybe. But he was a more interesting character. Not to mention more handsome," Amy said._

_"Handsome?"_

_She shrugged coyly, "I always had a little fantasy crush on him. Maybe it was the glasses." Then she leaned forward and whispered, "You know, I could move my end of the conversation over to the iPad and then over to the bedroom and we could start another topic that we certainly didn't attempt ten years ago."_

_"Amy! As I said before, it's not that type of phone call!"_

* * *

"Oh, come on, why not? We're consensual adults."

Sheldon did not admit it, but he was tempted. More by the twinkle in Amy's eyes than by the idea of any actual cybersex.  _Is it still even called that anymore?_  But, no, he just didn't think he could bring himself to do it. Plus, he doubted it would be satisfying. He already knew that his most pleasurable physical interactions with her were the ones in which she was very close to him, with his face buried in her somewhere, not 2407.38 miles away.

"Well, there's the concern over Internet privacy for starters. Although it's an active, live feed, it is still being routed through servers that - Amy?" Suddenly Amy's face with the bookshelves behind her were gone, replaced by the ceiling. The moving ceiling. "Amy, did you switch to the iPad?"

The view shifted again, and Amy's smirking face filled the screen, the great room of their home moving behind her. "Indeed I did. I know you well, Sheldon Cooper. I have no doubt that even if you are using the free WiFi provided by your hotel, you will have set a private browsing and chatting session so there are no temporary Internet files saved on your device. As have I."

"But I don't think I told you they assigned Leonard and I adjoining rooms!"

She was entering their walk-in closet now, and Sheldon watched as Amy seem to be adjusting the iPad on one of the shelves. "Is the door to Leonard's room open?" she asked.

"Um, no."

"Unlocked?"

"No, I locked it while I was waiting for you to call back," Sheldon mumbled.

"Okay then," Amy said. Then she stepped away and started to unbutton her cardigan.  _Oh, dear!, she's going to perform a strip-tease! I cannot handle that!_  Even the thought of that had an undesired effect on his body.

But it seemed that Amy had sensed Sheldon's trepidation. She did undress in front of him, but there was nothing more salacious about it than her usual evening ritual; certainly no repeat of the chess incident. Not that it mattered; he had undressed next to Amy a thousand times, but to just be lying there in bed, watching it, it felt . . . exciting. At last, her nightgown shimmied over her body, and she walked back over to the screen.

"Okay? You still with me?" Sheldon nodded. The screen moved again, the chaotic, rapid movements of being carried. Then Amy's face was back, sideways, resting on her pillow. She had put the iPad on his pillow. He smiled softly at this view; he missed it terribly. She said softly, "We can just talk."

"I'd like that. Here." Sheldon picked up his own iPad and adjusted it so that it was on the side of the bed that would be Amy's if she were there. He curled up on his own side to face her. "I'm sorry the lamp here doesn't have a dimmer. Is this too bright?"

She shook her head. "No, it's good. It's almost like being back in bed with you. What shall we talk about?"

"Do you really fantasize about Clark Kent?" Sheldon blurted out.

Amy chuckled. "Are you jealous? Maybe fantasize is too strong of a word. I just think he's more interesting. Think of all the excuses he's constantly making, all the times his dinner is burnt because he had to leave while it was cooking, all the relationships that he can't have because he's always leaving unexpectedly or showing up late for a date. It's an unexplored world, the lonely world of superheroes' alter egos."

"Their superhero is their alter ego, not their everyday cover," Sheldon said.

"I'm not so sure about that . . ." Amy said, trailing off.

Sheldon blinked slowly at her. How strange, he had never previously considered it from that point of view. That was just like Amy: to say something so fresh and new and suddenly so obvious.

"What about Thor? You fantasize about him, and he cannot be separated from his superhero version."

Her lips screwed up slightly. "How do you know I fantasize about Thor?"

"Because, well, you sometimes read my Thor comic books. And you like the movies."

"I like Norse mythology. And, okay, there is something about that golden mane of hair that I enjoy. But the movies . . . how do you know I'm watching Thor?"

"Who else would you be watching?" Sheldon adjusted, so that his head was resting on his arm, which was easier in his new glasses.

"There's Loki."

"Loki!"

"Yes," Amy smiled. "He's tall and thin and his hair is dark and he has the most beautiful blue eyes . . . that's more my type, really."

Sheldon blushed.

"Enough about me, who do you fantasize about?" Amy asked.

"What?" Sheldon lurched slightly. "No one. Why would I fantasize?"

"Because you're a healthy, sexually active human male," Amy said matter-of-factly. "There has to be someone, some actress or character that you've seen or read about that you imagined yourself snuggling up to at night."

"Amy!"

"I said snuggling. If you thought I meant something else, well," she shrugged, but a devilish grin was on her face.

Sheldon licked his lips. "Well, when I was a teenager, sometimes, I, uh, well, this is embarrassing, I imagined Catwoman. Or Deanna Troi."

Her head went up slightly. "Deanna Troi?"

"I was fourteen in 1994! She was wearing Spandex! And she took the bridge officer's examination in 'Thine Own Self.' You know how I admire a woman that can run a tight ship."

Amy's head went down and she laughed. "Okay, all's fair. One of my most embarrassing teenage fantasies was Jeff Goldblum's character in  _Jurassic Park_."

It was Sheldon's turn to be surprised. "Dr. Ian Malcolm?"

"All that talk of DNA and probability and cloning. Mmmmm," Amy said. "Not to mention he's tall with dark hair and glasses . . ."

"I may not be a specialist in chaos theory like Ian Malcolm but I think I'm sensing a pattern here." Sheldon paused. "Where, exactly, did you think you would have the time or place to, um, snuggle with him? While you were running for your lives from a velociraptor?"

"Oh, it wouldn't be in Jurassic Park. I would imagine the main reading room of the Thomas Jefferson Building in the Library of Congress. After it closed. With only a few emergency lights on. Alone. Maybe on the floor beside the -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm right here!" Sheldon interrupted.

"You know, Sheldon, just because the place hasn't changed, it doesn't mean it's still Ian Malcolm," she said softly.

"It isn't?" he replied, slightly breathless.

"No. It would still be after it closed. Only a few lights on, a dim yellow glow. We'd be alone, you and I. You'd have just published a new book, something about Albert Einstein. It's a shoe-in for the Pulitzer prize -"

"Pulitzer, not Nobel?" Sheldon interrupted.

"Welllll . . . I still think even my fantasy Sheldon would prefer to write in concrete facts inside of the nuances of the human experience that is fiction. And the Nobel is only given for fiction," Amy said.

"Yes, I suppose so." Sheldon waited for her to continue.

"Where was I? Oh, yes . . . I'd put on my best cardigan and sexiest heels, and I'd go to your book signing, and I hang back until the end. You're wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches over your tee-shirts and -"

"Tweed jacket?"

"It's a fantasy, Sheldon," Amy said firmly.

He put up his free hand. "Okay. Carry on."

"Anyway. I dazzle you with my wit and intelligence. And then you take me to the Library of Congress, with your keycard, because did I mention you also work there as a librarian?"

"Librarian?"

"Fantasy!" she huffed. Then she took a deep breath. "You give me a private tour and it ends in the main reading room. It's very dim and magical, and our voices echo in the cavernous space, so we whisper." Amy closed her eyes and her voice took on a dreamy quality. "Our heads get closer as our voices get lower. And then you brush my lip with your thumb just before you kiss me softly and -"

"Stop," he said softly.

"Sheldon?" she opened her eyes.

"I like it. It's just . . ." He made a motion with his hand, waving downwards.

Amy smiled. "I know."

"You vixen," he shot back. A pause. "Do you remember that dream you had once, where I was a time traveling physicist and you were a naïve young woman who traveled with me?"

"I don't know if I'd use the word naïve," Amy said, "but yes."

"Do you ever fantasize about that?"

"Hmmm, fantasize? No, I don't think so. Do you?"

"I just . . . they seemed so real, didn't they, just the way you described them to me. Never mind." Then he licked his lips. "Amy . . . do you . . . do you want me to tell you my fantasy?"

"Only if you want."

"Um, well." Why had he offered? What was he thinking? Verbalizing that? "Because it's a fantasy, they award the Nobel Prize in June."

"Your sexual fantasy is about you and the Nobel Prize?" Amy asked.

"Just listen. You didn't like it when I interrupted you!" Sheldon barked.

"I'm sorry. I'll be good. Continue."

He sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped. I never thought I'd be saying this."

"Sheldon, you don't have to. We can just say goodnight," Amy said, leaning toward the screen.

He looked at her for a few seconds, her dark hair, her green eyes, the dim light of their bedroom, so far away, surrounding her. Catwoman? Deanna Troi? No, he didn't want her to have any doubts.

"Can I close my eyes?" he asked. "I want to see it when I describe it."

"I'll close mine, too," Amy offered. And she shut her eyes.

Sheldon smiled softly at that, before he shutting his own. "June twenty-first to be precise. The summer solstice. You and I both have one, we each get our Nobel Prize on the same date. We sneak out of the banquet early, before the dancing is finished. Because we don't want to embarrass everyone further with our superior dance moves. We walk along the waterside promenades. It's beautiful: the old buildings with turrets and patina roofs and those precisely trimmed Scandinavian trees. There's a café somewhere with soft music and laughter. Stockholm is beautiful, you know, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Because it's June twenty-first, the sky is still blue, although a deeper blue because of approaching twilight, the sunlight scattering in the upper atmosphere, with just a trace of remaining fluffy cumulus clouds in the sky, and the sunset glints off the medals that we're still wearing around our necks and we laugh when people look at us oddly. Because we're dressed up. You're wearing a dress with a big skirt, lots of layers, but your hair is down. It's just a little breezy, just enough to lift up the ends of your hair. I've reserved a sailboat as a surprise -"

"A sailboat? You hate boats," he heard Amy ask

Sheldon opened his eyes, but she still had her eyes closed. He shut his again. "I'm a man of many talents. Especially in my fantasies. Anyway, we sail away, past the Opera and Parliament and the Royal Palace, until we're in the archipelago proper. We make love on the boat, in just our medals, and it's perfect, so perfect we don't even whisper. There's that light that is unique to the white nights of the North. The only sounds are the waves of the Baltic sea and the seagulls and the noise our medals make when they clink together as we move and your . . . breath."

Opening his eyes as though he has just woken from a dream, once again he found Amy's green eyes looking at him. She didn't even try to pretend she hadn't been peeking. It didn't matter, her look was perfect.

"Perfect," she whispered. "It seems you have a gift for describing the nuances of human emotion, after all."

"I think we should say goodnight," Sheldon whispered back. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Amy blew another kiss, even slower than the one she had sent him earlier, and he closed his eyes for a brief second, to imagine she was really next to him in bed, kissing him goodnight. Then her screen went dark.

Sheldon reached over and turned off his iPad, but left it resting on the extra pillow. He rolled over his on his opposite side and sighed, taking off his glasses and turning off the bedside lamp, thinking of his fantasy and the reality. Maybe he shouldn't have told her. No matter how she was looking at him at the end. He wanted her to know the reality - the reality of non-Nobel laureate Amy in her nightgown, in their bed - was just as perfect. He shifted uncomfortably and wondered what Amy was thinking, what Amy was doing.

Was she doing . . . that? He suspected she was. He wondered how she started, without him there to kiss. Did she run her hands down her sides, did she slowly lift up her nightgown? Did she caress her breasts? Sometimes, when he pleasured her, she would touch her own breast. He liked watching it. What then? Was she slow, deliberate, like he would be? Did she stroke the skin of her inner thigh first, teasing herself the way he did, that skin that he knew from experience was the smoothest, softest, creamiest skin on her entire body? Was her breath full of eager anticipation? Did she moan when she first made contact, like she often did for him? Amy, in their bed, in the dim light of their bedroom, thinking of him, not talking, only imagining him touching her, fantasizing about him touching her. The only sounds would be the occasional rustle of the sheets and her soft cries.

He sighed again, even more deeply, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table, and rolled over on his back. "Amy Farrah Fowler, you will be the death of me," he whispered as he lowered his pajama pants.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	81. Passage

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2020**

**Primary Topic: _Passage_ by Connie Willis**

* * *

Chapter 1

"Amy Farrah Fowler!" Sheldon roared.

Since he was not generally a roarer, Amy ran down the little hallway that went past their walk-in closet and stopped just inside their bedroom proper, her toothbrush in one hand and a hand towel in the other.

"What?" she asked, her eyes wide with alarm. Although it came out sounding like  _Whahf_  since her mouth was still full of toothpaste foam.

Sheldon looked at her from bed, his Kindle open in his hands. "Did you seriously think I would read a book about near death experiences? What a bunch of pseudo-religious poppycock."

Amy smiled and some toothpaste dribbled down her chin. "You couwd stopf weamding and weave it unfimmished."

"No, I could not stop reading and leave it unfinished. You have me trapped! And you know it!"

Amy chuckled, which, given her full mouth, made her sound a little like Jabba the Hutt.

Sheldon wrinkled his nose and waved his hand toward her. "Ugh. You're foaming like a rabid dog, you know. At least wipe your face."

She Jabba-chuckled again and turned around to return to the bathroom.

Shaking his head, Sheldon resumed reading, mumbling, "The things I endure for her . . ."

* * *

Chapter 4

It was supposed to be cuddle time. Well, it was cuddle time, Ada curled up on his lap in her pajamas,  _Star Trek_  on while Amy slept in. But it was 'Spock's Brain,' and even every diehard Trekker was forced to admit that episode was best forgotten.

"What are you reading?" Ada asked.

Sheldon glanced down into her upturned face. "The book your mother selected for Book Club."

"You like it?"

"What? No. It's awful."

"Why are you smiling?"

Adjusting his face, Sheldon watched Ada turn back toward the asinine silver turban Spock was wearing in sickbay. Sighing softly, he picked up his finger and highlighted the line on his Kindle.

"Love, marriage, children, the Nobel Prize."

* * *

Chapter 5

Several years ago, Amy would have said it was a hiccup. But now, she knew better. It was that tiny sound deep in Sheldon's throat that he made when he was a little surprised and a little amused at the same time, somewhere between a very short chuckle and a grunt of satisfaction.

She lifted her head, looked at his profile for a minute, watching his eyes move beneath his eyelids, behind his glasses. Then she smiled, and put her head back on his shoulder to continue with her own reading.

* * *

Chapter 8

"No, Mama. Her skirt should be blue, not red," Ada said.

Amy looked down and over at her, her little face screwed up as she scrutinized Amy's work. "Ada, I'm being creative. Coloring is for fun; there is no right way or wrong way to color your pictures. And it's not nice to boss people around."

"Hmph," Sheldon said from the sofa, where he was reading. Amy glanced over at the back of his head briefly. It was a lazy Sunday morning, and she had given up her own chance to read because of Ada's inducement to color with her.

"Is Daddy mad?" Ada whispered.

"Oh, no, sweetheart." Amy ran her palm along Ada's head to reassure her. "I think he's disgusted with a book, but he's not angry. Certainly not with you or with me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about the latter," Sheldon called.

"What's disgusted?" Ada asked, giving Amy the excuse to ignore that comment.

"You know that. You know what disgusting is, right?"

Ada nodded. "It's gross."

"Exactly. Disgusting is an adjective. So to be disgusted is to . . . . like this: I am disgusted, you are disgusted, we are disgusted, they are disgusted . . . do you know that part of speech that is?" Amy asked.

"Like when you do something?" Ada's voice rose up at the end.

"Yes, exactly. An action. Except it's called a verb."

"Why are the same things sometimes called other things?" Ada asked, picking through the crayons on the table.

"To make people feel better," Sheldon said from the sofa. "You know, like some people call illogical claptrap literature."

"Just like coloring," Amy raised her voice slightly, "there is no right or wrong way to write what is fiction, after all."

"Hmmmppphhh."

* * *

Chapter 12

What on Earth was that racket? And why was it continuing? Sheldon shuttered back from his reading.

"Ada," he stood. "What are you doing?"

"Playing a song," she said, hitting her xylophone with its mallet again. And again. And again. Sheldon said over the cacophony, "Please stop. If you can't play something melodious, it's very distracting to others."

"Sheldon," Amy said calmly, not moving her eyes from her own own page.

"What?" he swiveled around to look at her on the sofa.

"She's two. She's playing independently, which is every parent's Holy Grail. While allowing us to read. And she's experimenting. Shall I go on?" Still she didn't raise her voice or her eyes.

"'Sitting there in her cardigan sweater and wire-rimmed glasses, she was an island of sanity and sense in a field full of cranks and nutcases,'" Sheldon mumbled, returning to his spot.

Amy's eyes flicked up then, and he saw the hint of a smirk.

* * *

Chapter 14

Neurotranmitters. Hippocampus. Cortisol receptor sites. Carnosine. Amiglycine. Theta-asparcine.

Sheldon blinked hard, several times in a row. He could just ask Amy; it was so much better to hear her explain than to read dry, boring neuroscientific journals and papers on the Internet. A conversation with her was interactive, he could ask her questions. She would be more concise. And relevant, as she would have understood why he was asking, what the bigger picture was, and would tailor her answers to his needs.

He heard her approaching and he quickly closed his browser. No, he couldn't ask her. Not until he was sure of what he wanted to ask.

* * *

Chapter 19

"It's Swiss chard with cipollini onions and coriander. Rajeesh gave me the recipe." Amy said. "And," she added, warning in her voice, looking pointedly at Sheldon, "it's delicious and healthy. And we are all grateful to live where there are a variety of fresh vegetables available to eat and to provide us with necessary nourishment."

Sheldon shifted his gaze away from her, and she saw him look instead across the table at Ada, her little nose beribboned with wrinkles.

"Yuck," she whispered quietly. "I'm disgusted."

Sheldon said sharply, "Ada. Do not insult your mother's cooking, it's rude. Apologize now."

"I'm sorry," Ada said too loudly.

"Apology accepted. Now try a bite," Amy said. She glanced back at Sheldon. "Look, Daddy is."

He widened his eyes at her, but he put the tiniest forkful in his mouth. She watched him chew, his eyes watering. Finally, he swallowed and took a long drink of water. "That was . . . invigorating."

Frustrated, Amy took a large bite. Why couldn't Sheldon back her up on her food choices just once? Why did she go through all this effort to try new things? They were supposed to be in this together, setting a good example- Oh, dear, this was disgusting. Revolting, really. People ate this?  _Rajesh_  ate this? Was it getting worse? And why couldn't she swallow? She reached for her own glass of water and drained it, the vexing vegetable finally sliding down her throat in the flood. She ignored Sheldon and Ada staring at her. Finally, she managed to choke out, "Isn't it fun to try new foods?"

"'And he had called her an island of sanity,'" Sheldon quoted, as they all turned in unison to their chicken, leaving the chard where it lay on their plates. This time, it was his lips that turned up in a smirk as Amy kicked him under the table.

* * *

Chapter 21

"Can you believe this woman?" Sheldon huffed. "She's a doctor - a neuroscientist! - and she doesn't recognize the symptoms of Alzheimer's?"

"What woman?" Amy asked, her voice far away, her body hidden within the pantry.

"This . . . Joanna woman in this horrible book you pawned off to me as science fiction." He shook his head. "And you both call yourselves scientists!"

Amy backed out of the pantry, a box of rice in her hand. "Sheldon, you know the rule. No discussing the book until Book Club. That allows each of us to form our own opinions independently. And sometimes your opinion can change as you read the book."

He got off the stool at the island to come stand closer to her. "But just listen to this -"

"Hey, eager beaver," she said, hitting him playfully in the stomach with the rice box, "save it for Book Club."

"Maybe I'll save you for Book Club," he shot back.

"As if you could wait that long," she looked up and wiggled her eyebrows.

Raising his own eyebrows and then grinning in understanding, Sheldon smacked her delightful bottom before he went back across the room to investigate what Ada was up to. She had been far too quiet for far too long for any two-year old.

* * *

Chapter 60

It surprised her, coming back from putting Ada to bed, that Sheldon wasn't immediately visible, waiting patiently for her, ready to start Book Club. All she could hear was the dishwasher running through its cycle. Where was he? She knew that he had finished the book while she made dinner, concerning Amy because she'd never seen him rushed at the end like that before. And it was not as though Sheldon would have forgotten.

Amy found him at his computer, flipping through photos. She walked up next to him, looking at the pictures filling the screen. Her brow wrinkled. "Sheldon, are these . . . ?"

"Yes. My mother just send them. Apparently Missy had them all digitized."

"What a coincidence! You just digitized some photos for me, and now you're getting these. Everyone's preserving memories it seems."

He grunted slightly. "A variant of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon. But it's collective, not individual."

Chuckling, Amy said, "I guess you're ready for Book Club after all." She paused and watched a couple more photos slide by, until there was one of Meemaw in a white dress. "I can't believe I've never seen these. Look how happy they are. I love old wedding photos." Amy reached her arm out and put it around Sheldon's shoulder. "I always thought you had her eyes, and you can really see it here. And now our Ada does, too."

His arm went around her waist, pulling her near. He whispered, "I miss her."

Amy moved her hand up to rub the side of his head, above his ear and leaned in closer. "She would have loved Ada. And seeing you with her." Bending over, she kissed the top of his head. "I think we should print one and hang it in Ada's room. Then they can be together, the two Adas."

"She would have liked that," he agreed. Then he stopped the slideshow and turned. "Shall we adjourn to the living room for Book Club?"

"Perhaps we've already started . . . " Amy replied.

* * *

"What do you mean, we've already started?" Sheldon asked, relaxing into his spot on the sofa.

"I mean, this book is about memories. And photographs are tangible, physical representations of memories," Amy explained, joining him.

"No, this book is about formerly competent scientists betraying their knowledge and training with their overactive imaginations. In other words, going loco," Sheldon said forcefully, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Amy shook her head, "it's about scientists that remain competent while using their knowledge and training to try and find a logical, scientific explanation for one of the mysteries of the universe."

"Please, Amy," Sheldon groaned. "Do not tell me you believe this poppy-cock. The science in 'Spock's Brain' was more substantial than the science in this book."

"That is not true and you know it! All of the neurobiology here is used accurately, if perhaps simplified for the lay reader. The neurotransmitters, the way receptor sites works, the lobes of the brain, how to read RIPT scans, all of it." She took a breath. "There are still mysteries in the universe, you know that. If we knew all the answers, then neither one of us would have a job. And we'd have a very boring, flat existence."

"Hmph."

"That's it? You going to dismiss it all with a disgusted sound? I have to say I'm disappointed, I expected more of you tonight."

"Why?"

"Because you were so vocal about this book all month long." Sheldon opened his mouth to speak. "And not all of it negative," Amy continued. He promptly shut it.

Sheldon looked at her, the way she was watching him so intently. There was no denying she was correct; there had been days he had wanted to discuss it so badly with her. And, although there were a preponderance of days that he hated this book and Amy for selecting it, there had been moments when he felt . . . challenged. And that  _X-Files_  reference in Chapter Five was humorous.

"I didn't like it. It was too messy. All that running around, all that disorganization, all those mentions of the blocked hallways and such. It was too frenetic," he finally said.

"You do understand that was the point, don't you?" Amy asked. "All the chaos was a metaphor for the metaphor that Joanna discovers in the end."

"Yes, I got it. I'm an intelligent man," he snapped.

Amy put her hands up defensively.

He sighed. "Sorry. Yes, I understood the metaphors all piling up here like a crash on the interstate. It's not exactly subtle. But why are they always metaphors? Especially in what is supposed to be a book about research?"

She smiled. "What an excellent question, Sheldon. Look, right here is the answer!" She opened her Kindle with a grin, swiped her finger a couple of times, and then started to read. "'The likeness is already there. The metaphor only sees it. And it is not a mere figure of speech. It is the very essence of our minds as we seek to make sense of our surroundings, our experiences, ourselves, seeing similarities, parallels, connections. We cannot help it.'"

"Next you're going to claim that 'literature is a warning,' just like Mr. Briarley. 'The perfect metaphor, looming up suddenly out of nowhere in the middle of your maiden voyage, unseen until it is nearly upon you, unavoidable even when you try to swerve, unexpected even though there have been warnings all along.'"

"See, isn't that lovely? Using metaphors to describe metaphors?"

Sheldon sighed again and reached up to rub his eyes beneath his glasses. "Can we agree to disagree on this subject? I have a feeling this book was written to be uncomfortable and - challenging." He put his hand down, readjusted his glasses, and looked over at Amy. "I don't understand why someone would purposely write an imperfect novel."

"Who says imperfect isn't perfect in its own way?" Amy asked.

"Have you gone loco now, too?"

Amy chuckled. "No. But . . . well, think of a memory. Or a handful of memories. Chances are greater they will be imperfect than perfect, correct? Wait -" she stopped him from speaking - "I'm not talking about how well you remember them. I'm talking about what happened in those memories. No human is perfect, so very few events that occur between humans will be perfect. Some are confusing or awkward or embarrassing, in some you are sad or shy or angry or hurt. Or don't even know what you're feeling, really. But they stay with you, right? Because of who is in them. And, over time, as the years go by, even if they are still sad or confusing, there's something about them . . ." she shrugged. "They stay with you. And, in the end, you even find yourself saying, 'Remember that time that such-and-such happened?'"

Looking down at her Kindle again, she found something else. "This isn't exactly the same, of course, but I liked it. 'They still speak to you. They send us messages - about love and courage and death! That's what history is, and science, and art. That's what  _literature_ is. It's the people who went before us tapping out messages from the past, from beyond the grave, trying to tell us about life and death! Listen to them!'"

Titling his head, Sheldon, said softly, "I don't think it's the same thing at all, actually. That's about public messages. Memories are very private. You can't share a memory with another person. I mean, you can, in the moment, if they were there with you when the original event occurred. But the memories of average people - not me, of course - are notoriously varied, that's why eye-witnesses actually aren't that useful. They mention that in this book, too."

Amy bite her lip. "Yes, I think you're correct. They aren't the same thing." She shrugged. "Okay, let's talk about the science in the book, that seems like something more solid to debate. There's a lot of déjà vu, it's one of the motifs, I think."

Sheldon shuddered. "I hate that feeling."

Her brow furrowed, Amy asked, "Really? Why? It's a natural part of the human experience. In fact, there is a theory that increased incidences of déjà vu are linked with an excellent memory, so you may experience more of them than the average person, which you should take as a good sign that your famous memory is still intact."

"But they make me feel like my memory is failing, because I can't remember the first event."

"Because not all - in fact most, as reported in studies - times of déjà vu are not caused by a repeating event, rather by a brand new event that feels like a memory. So that's normal, too."

Sheldon shook his head. "The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon again."

"A frequency illusion?" Amy raised her eyebrows. "Is that what you think it is, déjà vu?"

"No," Sheldon said quickly and then paused sharply. "I've never thought of that before. Hmmmm, maybe. You should study that. I was starting a new topic. The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon appears in this book, yet she never calls it that. Or even mentions a frequency illusion."

"I think if she'd mentioned it by name, if she'd pointed it out, it would not have seemed as though it was also happening to the reader. That's one of the frameworks of this novel: what is happening to Joanna is also happening to the reader."

"I know, I told you I got it. I just didn't care for it. I can't believe you love this book."

"Love it?" Amy leaned back. "Who said I loved it?"

"You did. With all your the-imperfections-make-it-perfect nonsense." Sheldon flicked his wrist at her.

"You're wrong. I didn't love this book." Amy stood abruptly.

"Huh? Where are you going?" Sheldon got up to follow her to the kitchen.

"Emptying the dishwasher; it went off." She opened the door and pulled the top rack out, removing glasses and putting them on the appropriate shelf.

"What do you mean you didn't love this book?"

"It's drives me crazy that the plastic Rubbermaid never gets dry. Hand me a towel," Amy said. Sheldon gave her the dishtowel, and then she continued, "I actually hated this book. It was all I could do to finish it. Yes, I got all the points as we discussed, but I thought it was overly long and tedious. It made me jumpy and nervous, which I get was the point, too, but I don't like feeling uncomfortable while reading unless there is a larger issue at play, some sort of deep lesson or an important and maybe even controversial topic that needs explored. Didn't you just want to grab Joanna by the shoulders and shake her and say, "Calm down and take a deep breath!' I was dying to."

"Then what was all that?" he waved his hand toward the sofa, where it had just sounded like she spent a lot of time defending this book. "And all month long, when you knew I was struggling, too?"

"It's the process, Sheldon. Remember, the challenge you talked about? Reading can be like science research sometimes. It's not about the break-though at the end. Just like Book Club. It's not just about the night we discuss the novel. It's about our lives, our memories, they way they weave into Book Club. One could argue, perhaps, that Book Club isn't really about the book."

"What?"

Amy grinned, stretched over the open dishwasher door and planted a sloppy, poorly-aimed kiss on his cheek. Then she reached down for another dish still sprinkled with water droplets. He watched her as she looked away from him and the grin slowly faded, although her eyes remained bright. What did it all mean?

They stood next to each other at the island, Amy on his left, wearing a purple striped cardigan, drying the dish. She was staring straight in front of her, seemingly oblivious to his presence, even though they had moved to stand here beside each other just moments ago. Now she was lost in her own thoughts, whatever those might me. Still, after all these years, she could be a such a mystery to him, the depths of her mind just as unreachable as the memories in the novel. He looked over at her, intrigued and -

He was struck, suddenly and almost forcefully, by a sense of déjà vu. No, it had to be an example of the Bader-Meinhof Phenomenon, as they just discussed déjà vu. But, no, he knew he'd been here before, standing on her right, looking over at her, curious for more, even while it seemed she was ignoring him. Oh, yes, he remembered the initial event now. His famous memory wasn't failing him yet. But what was that sensation, that feeling? It was more powerful than even curiosity . . . it was . . . his brain searched for the word, the right word, any word to describe it. There was a French expression for that too, the word being on the tip of one's tongue: presque vu.

Only this passage came to him: "They know it when they see it. They recognize it instantly, though they have never seen it before. And cannot take their their eyes off it."


	82. Imperfect

**Imperfect**

* * *

_Amy chuckled. "No. But . . . well, think of a memory. Or a handful of memories. Chances are greater they will be imperfect than perfect, correct? Wait -" she stopped him from speaking - "I'm not talking about how well you remember them. I'm talking about what happened in those memories. No human is perfect, so very few events that occur between humans will be perfect. Some are confusing or awkward or embarrassing, in some you are sad or shy or angry or hurt. Or don't even know what you're feeling, really. But they stay with you, right? Because of who is in them. And, over time, as the years go by, even if they are still sad or confusing, there's something about them . . ." she shrugged. "They stay with you. And, in the end, you even find yourself saying, 'Remember that time that such-and-such happened?'"_

* * *

February 15, 2015

He slipped into bed next to her. Even through his plaid pajamas, she was powerfully aware of the heat radiating off of his body. Amy kept looking up at the ceiling.

"Um . . ." Sheldon asked, ". . . should I turn off the light?"

Should he? Last night, they had been too eager to turn it on and had lost their virginity ( _!_ ) by the light of the hallway. This morning, the sunrise had been streaming in the window. But did they need the light . . . .

"If you want," she whispered.

There was an overly long pause and then Sheldon reached over to turn off the lamp.

Amy put her hand up over her chest, feeling her heart pounding under her nightgown. She felt hot. "Sheldon?"

"Yes?" she thought his reply was awfully quick, like he was waiting for her to speak.

"Did you change the thermostat?"

"No." What that disappointment she heard in his voice? "Why?"

"I'm a little warm, that's all."

"Oh." Another pregnant pause. "Me, too."

"Should we . . . . ?" Amy wasn't sure how to end the sentence. Was even a sexually active Sheldon Cooper prepared to hear the words "sleep naked"? They had last night, but that was . . . well, that's just what sexual activity caused.

"Take off the quilt?" Sheldon suggested.

"Oh. Okay."

Amy didn't even move to help, just watched his barely visible form shifting in bed beside and above her as he slowly pulled the quilt down.

"I'm folding it in an accordion pattern," he volunteered, "so if we get cold later, we can just reach down and pull it back up."

_Like if we're naked? No, don't think that. What is wrong with me?_ "Thank you."

Sheldon lay back down next to her, not touching but, she thought, maybe closer. Or was she imagining it? His arm moved. Then a leg. A hand moved. Then moved back. He was fidgeting. Odd, because she was oddly too . . . something to move.

"Amy?" Sheldon said timidly.

"Yes?" she replied, still looking at the ceiling.

"May I . . . ask you a personal question?"

Amy smiled in the dark. She rather felt all personal questions were allowed now. "Yes."

"Are you . . . it's just that I would hate to think . . . I mean, now that some time has passed . . . " he took a deep breath ". . . uncomfortable in any way?"

She smiled again. "No." A pause, a decision to be honest. "A little, when I first sat down at breakfast. But it's passed."

"Oh."

Was that regret she heard? Well, that was normal, right? He was disappointed that he had had a part in her discomfort, not matter how minor. Or how much it didn't matter to her, how much it had been worth it.

She rolled over. Sheldon was also lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. What should she say? Or do? Honestly, what were the options available to her, only the ones that didn't scream "I'm a sex maniac"? And why was this suddenly so awkward and embarrassing? It had not been that way last night or this morning. Or even their nudity in the shower. The shower. They were getting married. How her life had changed in the past twenty-four hours!

"Sheldon?"

He finally rolled over also. "Amy?"

"Do you want to . . . ?"

"Oh, yes!"

* * *

February 20, 2015

The best part was Amy's face across the bed, still wearing her tiara, how optimistically she watched the die fall on the hardback book.

"Left ankle," Sheldon sighed, looking down at the now still die. "Again."

"What do we do?" Amy asked, glancing at her bare legs, her shoes and tights already having been removed.

Sheldon shook his head, crossing his own bare feet in front of him. "Everyone thinks that because a die roll results in the same number several times in a row, that the probability is that the next roll will be on their side. It's not true; the probability resets for every roll."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," Amy said.

Sheldon looked up, startled, but she was grinning.  _Oh, sarcasm._

"Proposal," Amy continued. "We just add ten to every roll?"

"Hmmm. No," Sheldon said. "That wouldn't work. We'd skip right over arms and legs. I may be fairly new at this, but I don't see how we can having a wedding night while still being fully dressed."

"Five?" Amy suggested.

"Now you're just being arbitrary," Sheldon said. Then he sighed deeply. "This was supposed to be your wedding present. And your prize for winning our wager. But it's only becoming frustrating."

There was silence as they both looked at the offending die for a moment, and then Amy's tiara started to slip and she reached up to grab it. "Arbitrary or not, I'm just calling twelve or whatever number we need for scalp, because I want to take this off."

"Scalp isn't a body part when using the die for damage," Sheldon said absent-mindedly.

"I'm sure there are some other body parts we'll using that aren't included on there, either," Amy said. Then she chuckled. "Maybe we should have bought sex dice!"

"Amy!"

For some reason, this made Amy laugh harder. "I can just imagine you rolling vagina and not being able to say it!"

Sheldon's eyebrows shot up.  _Was that a challenge?_  "Lips!" he called out and leaned over to give her a quick peck.

Amy's laugh got deeper. "That's more like it!"

He loved watching her, her green eyes dancing.  _My wife. My wife. Today and forever, she is my wife._  He picked up the book and rotated to put it on the end table. He looked at the die in his hand for a second and shrugged and threw it over his shoulder. This elicited anther peel of laughter from Amy, and he found himself grinning.

"Breasts!" he called, taking her by the shoulders, slowly angling her down on the bed, breaking out into his own laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

* * *

July 2, 2015

_Oh!_ She couldn't help it, she jerked her head back at the first taste, out of the way. That was . . . probably the wrong thing to do. What if he thought she was repulsed? She tentatively touched a drop on her lip with her tongue. Salty.

Amy raised her eyes up to look at him. He was staring at her.

"Did -"

"You've got some on your chin," Sheldon interrupted. He reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a tissue, handing it to her. She took it and wiped her chin, watching Sheldon cleaning off his stomach, pulling one tissue after another out of the box. Surely he would empty it.

"Sheldon?" she asked, frightened by his reserve.

He looked up and smiled at her, but it looked tepid. "Come here," he said, softly.

She crawled up next to him, and he pulled her in close, his arm about her shoulders. Both of them reclining against the headboard, they lay in silence, as he stroked her hair. She had no idea what he was thinking.

* * *

December 4, 2015

"No, you put your right leg here," Amy grasped Sheldon's thigh and guided his leg to where it needed to be.

"Ouch. That's very uncomfortable," he protested.

"Be patient. Then I move like this . . . " she shifted in front of him.

"How is that sexy?" he asked.

"You're supposed to lean forward," she instructed.

He grunted but complied.

"Better?" she asked.

"Only marginally."

"Okay, so now you can penetrate me."

"Who invented this position? Cirque de Soliol members?"

"Sheldon! You're ruining it!"

"This position is ruining it! 'Now you can penetrate me.' This feels like gym class, not foreplay."

Amy huffed and pulled away from him. She tried to look at Sheldon, but he was avoiding her gaze. Finally, he said, still looking down, "Amy, I don't - I know you wanted to try all of these - and some are fun - but - it feels like work. I don't want it to feel like work."

Reaching out, she put her fingertips under his chin, forcing him to raise his face. "Then we'll stop."

"I'm sorry," he finally looked at her. "I know you were attempting to be scientific, experimenting, finding the perfect position -"

"Come," she interrupted, taking his hand.

"What?"

"This is my favorite," Amy whispered and she stretched out on her back, pulling him over her.

* * *

March 18, 2016

Sheldon did a double take and almost fell off his side of the bed. "Amy, what on Earth is that?" He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of her nether regions.

"Oh, this?" Amy looked down, which he didn't understand at all because surely she couldn't help but be aware of when that happened. "I told you Penny and I went to get waxes yesterday."

"Yes, but what's wrong with it?" Fortunately, Amy slid into bed next to him, obscuring it from view. At least it explained why she had changed last night and this morning in the bathroom, alone.

"It's called a Brazilian, Sheldon," Amy huffed. "Apparently it's quite common."

"But what purpose does it serve? Is it an arrow? Braille for the blind virgin?"

She crossed her arms, which only managed to emphasize her cleavage. "Some men find it erotic."

"Not this man. It's unnatural. You're an adult female! Why would you mutilate yourself in that fashion?"

"You know what?" The line in Amy's brow was deep. "It's my body, and I can do with it what I like. I don't need to know your opinion."

"But you just said you did it because men supposedly find it erotic!" His voice was getting loud now. "Beside, I always have an opinion, and you love hearing them."

"Forget it," Amy mumbled and rolled away from him, turning off the bedside lamp, darkening the room, and sliding down between the covers.

Sheldon sighed deeply. How was this his fault? He wasn't the one who had disfigured his body. "I just don't understand. Obviously, grooming of all parts of your body are essential to proper personal hygiene. But -"

"I said forget it." Now she was talking through clenched teeth and that was never a good sign.

Sighing again, he laid down himself and shifted close to her back, careful not to touch her. "Amy, I'm sorry. You're right, it's your body. If you find this Brazilian thing . . . attractive, then well, it's your decision."

"I don't need you to tell me when something about my own body is my decision."

Not knowing why, exactly, Sheldon smiled behind her. The timing was all wrong, but he loved to hear the defiance in her voice. "Amy," he said softly, "I know. That's not what I meant. It surprised me. Especially your reasoning." He paused. "Remember that Buzzfeed I sent you? If Hermoine Granger were the main character in Harry Potter? I didn't just send because it was funny, I sent it because it sounded like things you would say. I love it when you rail against the patriarchy."

He heard a sniff. "Amy?"

"I'm a horrible feminist! I didn't do it to rail against the patriarchy! I only did because Penny talked me into it, she said you'd like it. But I hate it! And it was painful and it makes me look like I'm ten and it will only look worse when as grows out and I'm sure it will itch like crazy!" Another sniff.

Risking reprimand, he wrapped his arm around her waist. "You know I love you just the way you are, right? I wish you wouldn't listen to Penny so much, though." When she didn't push him away or fight back, he dropped a brief kiss on her shoulder.

"Even though Hermoine wouldn't ever get a Brazilian for any man?" she finally said.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Ron is a fumbling idiot, and she'd probably decide to do it just to provide him a map." He stopped, suddenly. Was that a patriarchal thing to say? He wasn't sure.

But Amy had started chuckling, and, as her laugh grew louder, he grinned. She rolled over in his arms. "You're right. Hermione wouldn't accept anything less than mutual satisfaction."

"Mmmmm, and neither should you . . . " He bent to kiss her, his hand already trailing down her body, finding the arrow to point the way.

* * *

July 15, 2016

He was curled up, almost off the bed he was so far over to his side. He just wanted one night of sleep. A solid uninterrupted eight hours. That's it.

Her arm slid around him and he jerked, almost kicking.

"Sheldon?" Amy whispered into his back.

"Don't touch me," he said, hoarsely, bringing his head further down into his chest. Her arm pulled away.

"I'm sorry." The anguished whisper again. The edge of a cry. He couldn't bear to hear her cry. To see her cry. Now when he so desperately wanted to cry. "I just wish you'd let me help you feel better in some way."

"Go away. Leave me alone," he said. "I don't want you to touch me. That never makes me feel better."

She did cry then, but it was of shock. Hurt. He realized, from a memory of something, that his words had hurt her. But he felt nothing.

The comforter was pulled off the bed and she stomped out of the room, dragging it behind her. She was angry, too. He saw her face as she passed. Tears. He rolled forcefully away from the door, toward her side of the bed. Empty.

Exactly how he felt. He wanted to cry. For himself. For hurting Amy. For lying to her. For Meemaw. But he was empty.

* * *

December 12, 2017

"Hoooooooo. . . " the last breath of her orgasm died away, and Amy leaned forward, wishing she was still able to rest her forehead against Sheldon's, who was breathing heavily after his own. The baby kicked her strongly and her hand went down on reflex. She always tried to disconnect the two things, which felt both necessary and yet impossible, as it was sex that had gotten her in this condition in the first place.

She shifted as she straddled him, preparing herself to lift away from him, so they could cuddle and feel the baby move together with minimal weirdness. Sheldon brought his hands up to her sides to help her when she suddenly, and loudly, passed gas.

"Oh!" she yelled, jerking herself off of him as fast as she could, her face burning red. "I'm so sorry, I -"

Except Sheldon didn't look disgusted or angry; instead, he threw his head back and laughed. "Sheldon?" her brow wrinkled.

He actually flopped over on his side, he was laughing so hard. "Are you laughing at me? Do you think it's funny?"

"Yes - and - I don't - know -why."

She picked up her pillow and hit him with it. "Sheldon Cooper, it's not funny!" Another hit. "Stop acting like a seven-year-old boy!" Hit. "I'm seven and half months pregnant -" Hit. "- and it's an unavoidable, natural bodily function and -" Hit.

"Why are you hitting me?" He managed to get out, still laughing, grabbing his own bed pillow and swinging it at her but missing wildly. Maybe on purpose because she was pregnant, maybe because he was never any good at sports.

Then Amy burst out laughing, too, at the sheer improbably of Sheldon laughing at something like this, her embarrassment mostly gone. She lifted up her pillow and hit him again.

* * *

January 14, 2018

"Like this?" she asked. "It's the most I can curl now."

"Yes," Sheldon answered, kissing her shoulder. He put a hand on her hip, to steady him and start to inch closer -

"Wait. I'm sorry, this is too much pressure on my hip. Give me a pillow to support my knee."

Sheldon shifted and grabbed the pillow from the foot of the bed, handing it to her. Amy put it under her bent knee. "Does that give you enough room?"

"Yes." Lying down behind her again, adjusting, inching toward, guiding himself to where he wanted to be.

"Careful," Amy whispered.

"Of course," he whispered back, kissing her shoulder.

There was sudden noise, a little . . . what? . . . from her. "Amy?"

She let out a slow breath. "Nothing. It's okay."

Sheldon frowned behind her. Should he stop? But he was barely in, and, oh God, he needed to continue. He gritted his teeth and scarcely pressed further.

That sound again. "Amy?"

"I'm . . . can you . . . not go any deeper?"

He pulled back slightly - really, if he pulled back any more he'd be out - and pushed back, with so little force he thought thrust really wasn't the term.

"Ow!" Amy said. "I'm sorry, please stop."

He already had. Rather, his body had already stopped, had immediately lost any interest the second he recognized the onomatopoeia of pain.

"Amy? Are you okay?" he asked in fear. Sheldon stayed behind her, curled up to match her naked form, and started to softly rub her forearm. An unstated apology.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she said, softly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he replied with equal softness. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"No, you didn't. I promise. It just felt like . . . too much pressure." She turned her face, and he could clearly see her profile. "Do you want me to . . . maybe a hand job?"

He shook his head and buried his face into her neck, beneath her ear. "It's gone."

"Oh."

He thought they would maybe fall asleep that way, until he felt something wet on his nose. He opened his eyes, and brought his hand up to caress her hair. "Amy, please don't cry. I  _did_ hurt you."

"No, really, you didn't." Her face turned away sharply, and he lost her profile. "It's just stupid hormones . . . I wanted the last time to be perfect."

"Shhhh, shhhh," he murmured and wrapped his arm about her, tighter, slipping his palm in between her full breasts and her enormous stomach.  _Me too._

* * *

August 1, 2019

It was her absence that awoke him and confused him. He glanced at the clock. Only six. But there was a chill in the bed where Amy normally lay. Sheldon sat up and rubbed his face. Ugh, he hadn't slept well. He was awake too late, consoling Amy as she cried, cramping from not moving while he held her, hot to be in bed fully clothed and under the blankets. Finally, they'd broken apart and just thrown their clothes on the floor, but he still couldn't sleep, his mind churning, thinking of his own father, of being a father.

But Amy . . . Sheldon pushed the covers off and followed the sound of the shower to the bathroom. The pile of clothes on the floor itched his brain as he passed, but Amy . . . Her back was to him, and he was rather ashamed of what the sight of her naked posterior did to him.  _Only because I just woke up_ , he reasoned,  _and I was half-way in that state, anyway._

"Amy? Are you all right? It's early," he said over the sound of the water.

"Join me," she said.

Sheldon opened the glass shower door. Tentatively, he put his hands on her shoulders. "Do you need something? Or do you need to be alone today? Do we need to suspend toilet -"

"Shhh." Amy turned around, in his embrace, and wrapped her arms around him.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered in her ear after kissing her forehead.

"This."

Sheldon sucked in is breath as her hand on him made it abundantly clear what  _this_ was. "Are you sure? I mean -"

"Sheldon." She back up and looked at him, her green eyes determined. "Please."

After swallowing, Sheldon nodded and allowed her to guide him toward the titled bench, where he sat and helped Amy straddle him, where he let her take what she needed.

* * *

December 1, 2020 (present day)

"Right there. Ohhhhh, I'm close," Amy moaned.

Sheldon bent down to nibble on her earlobe again, as he was propped up on one elbow, his other hand cupping on her her breasts under the covers, curving around her from behind. Amy made a sharp intake of breath and he felt his own approaching climax. _God, I love it when we come together -_

"Mama?" The bedroom door flung open at the same time the small voice sounded.

Sheldon froze in absolute terror, only able to move his wide eyes to look at Ada, standing in their doorway, in her pajamas.  _Frak! What time is it?_

"I have to go potty!" Ada whined, doing a little dance.

"Sweetheart -"

"Go!" Sheldon yelled, still not moving. Why had he woken Amy up this way? Why did the most satisfying foreplay take so long?

"Daddy?"

"GET OUT! NOW!"

Ada yelped, turned and fled at the same time Amy pulled away from him, stood, and ran for her robe. "Sheldon Cooper! Look what you've done! You frightened her and she peed on the hallway floor!"

Sheldon rolled over on his back and moaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why did she just come barging in here when she knows that not allowed? And urinate in random places?"

"Because it's 6:49! And she's a child! And you created a schedule in which she has to pee before 6:45 in the morning! This is why we don't have -" Amy lowered her voice to whisper yell as she threw his robe on the bed "- hug on a work morning!"

"Hug?" Sheldon uncovered his eyes to look at her.

"Yes, we were  _hugging_. That's it, that's all she saw. That's all we'll say. All  _you'll_ say, when you apologize to her. And only if she asks. I swear to God, if you say anything else, you won't be able to hug again for a very long time!" Amy swept out of the room, to clean the floor, to sooth their daughter.

Groaning, Sheldon sat and reached for his robe, to afraid to lower the blankets before he was wearing it. He swung his legs over, stood, and looked down.  _Frak! Now I have to take care of that in the shower. And we're going to be late for work. Just perfect._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews! And, if you haven't yet read 'If Hermoine Granger were the main character in Harry Potter' on buzzfeed .com, go read it now. After you've dried your tears from laughing so hard, you'll thank me.** _


	83. One Day

**_Thank you to juliadelg for this book suggestion._ **

**_And, as always, t_ _hank you in advance for your reviews._ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2021**

**Primary Topic: _One Day_ by David Nicholls**

**Additional book(s) mentioned:** **_Passage_ by Connie Willis**

* * *

She came up slowly out of her sleep, stretching her toes and taking a deep breath of Sheldon's chest. Amy's eyelids fluttered open, and she gave a contented sigh. What a great night's sleep! It was deep and long, she thought, or maybe she had some sort of fabulous dream that she couldn't remember just then but which had left her with a glow of happiness.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered, his hand on the small of her back. "Are you awake?"

"Mmmm . . . yes."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I slept very deeply. Why?" She tilted her head back to look up at his stubbled face.

"It's only 6:28. You woke up early. On your own."

A quick calculation told her that two minutes was not enough time to make love - hadn't been since maybe the first time - so she caressed his side and pulled him close for a hug, getting lost in his smell, his warmth, the sensation of his stubbled chin on the top of her head.

* * *

At 6:49 a.m., Sheldon met her in Ada's room, per usual. But, instead of his normal graphic tee shirt, he was wearing the cobalt blue henley with nary a graphic she had bought him and hung wordlessly on his side of the closet a couple of months ago. Because the color matched his eyes perfectly, and she liked to imagine him wearing it even though she knew she'd never live to see the day he would.

Before Amy could ask, he mumbled to her, "It seems my _Star Wars_ shirt has formed a hole. And if I wore  _The Avengers_ shirt today it would ruin the entire rotation, and that would only leave me feeling discombobulated for the remainder of the week." He sighed. "Well, it was my oldest shirt."

He looked so fine, she didn't care.

* * *

There was not a single other car in line at the Starbucks drive-thru. Even Sheldon couldn't, and thus didn't, complain as she drove away in record time with her chai tea latte. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 7:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

* * *

At 9:30 a.m., she discovered a notice of a package in her mailbox at work. After claiming the plastic shipping bag from the neuroscience division administrative assistant, Amy puzzled over the Her Universe return label. She hadn't ordered anything from there recently. And she didn't have personal packages sent to work anyway.

Back in her lab, she opened the package and grinned with abandon at the message: "To Dr. Fowler. From Dr. Cooper." It was a jersey nightgown covered in Van Gogh's sunflowers. Granted, there was a TARDIS in the background and it was sleeveless which she normally didn't wear in January, but Sheldon had never bought her anything that could remotely be considered lingerie before. She'd take it.

* * *

Her watch told her it was 11:45 a.m. when it chimed. The day was moving quickly, and that was always a good thing.

S: Lunch together?

A: The boys?

S: A meeting for some committee for which I have mercifully been overlooked.

A: A nooner? Count me in.

S: I suspect I am missing context. Regardless, your place or mine?

* * *

At 12:56 p.m. - precisely, as it took Sheldon exactly four minutes to walk back to his building - Amy watched his slender, cobalt blue back disappearing down the hallway, wondering if she could make a scientifically sound argument for why that shirt should stay in the rotation. Something about precedents, maybe?

Still smiling, she went to retrieve her lab coat from the rack and reached into her pocket for her hair elastic. The smile twisted to confusion as her hand brushed, not her hair elastic, but a slip of soft paper. She pulled it out and then smiled again. A twenty dollar bill! How long had that been hiding in there? She didn't even know she had it!

* * *

The knock startled her at 2:37 p.m.

"Dr. Fowler?"

Amy looked up from her work, confused and flustered. "President Seibert?" She rushed to put down her pipet and take her gloves off and stand all at the same time, her heart thumping loudly. The president of Caltech did not just casually stop by anyone's office. And, as far as she could recall, he'd never even not-casually stopped by hers. Sheldon's, of course, but not hers.

He held out an envelope and all Amy could think was "pink slip." She couldn't help it, even though, of course, as a tenured researcher, he just couldn't walk to her lab and casually or not-casually fire her. With trembling hands, Amy took it from him, unable to speak, unable to ask the obvious questions.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you. This is quite a coup, one sure to bring prestige both upon you and the university as a whole. This grant is the largest sum the neuroscience division has ever received. What a compelling proposal you must have written!"

The strange giddiness in his voice combined with the knowledge of what this surely must be, only makes Amy's heart pound harder. She opened the envelope carefully, trying to use the action to calm her nerves.

"And to think I've never heard of this Charles Bonnet character!" Seibert added.

"Bon-NAY. He was French," Amy corrected him without thinking, then regretted it. She should not have corrected the president like that, even if his comment about never hearing of the 17-century naturalist was a stupid thing for him to say, revealing his own inferior well of knowledge. Quickly, she tried to cover her insult. "Very few people have heard of him. But I think his theories into visual cortex stimulated hallucinations could prove sound. If I could isolate the neurochemical or the biomechanism -"

"Again, what an honor it would bring to the university!" Seibert put out his hand, then, and Amy realized it was to silence her and prevent any further interaction.

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling knowingly when she shook his hand. He was not insulted by her correction, he was embarrassed. He really had no idea what she was telling him, the research her new grant would fund. Such a small man, he didn't even care.

Counting the seconds, Amy shut the door of her lab behind him so that she could have some privacy to do a little victory dance. And then she called Sheldon.

* * *

"Guess what, Ada?" Sheldon said, swooping up their daughter as soon as they cleared the door to the faculty daycare and entered the sunshine.

"What?" she asked, throwing her arms around him.

"We've got a surprise for Mama! Because she's a very important genius!"

"You do?" Amy asked, the surprise knocking the smile off her face for the first time in two and half hours.

"First of all, I'm driving," Sheldon said.

"Ah, what every very important genius wants as a prize: to not drive the ten-minute commute home."

"I said 'first of all,' Miss Smarty Pants, which clearly implies a second of all," Sheldon protested.

"Did you call Mama a name?" Ada asked.

Sheldon turned his face sharply to his daughter's as they approached the car. "No, of course not. Because calling someone a name other than their own is rude, and we do not do rude things like call other people names. It's a - a term of endearment."

Amy smirked at this interaction.

"What's a term of endearment?" Ada asked, as she slid down from his arms to get in the car.

"A very special name daddies use for their beautiful genius wives." His eyes met Amy's. They looked especially blue in that shirt, behind his dark glasses frames, and he was just so . . . "You're awfully brilliant yourself, you know," she murmured.

Sheldon leaned over and gave her an unexpected kiss on the cheek. "Later, Miss Smarty Pants."

"Daddy, let me in!"

After Sheldon had clicked the button on his fob unlocking the door, Amy opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. She glanced at the clock as Sheldon buckled Ada in. 5:11 p.m. She waited for him to get in and perform most of his Pre-Driving Checklist in silence before she asked, "Seriously, Sheldon, is driving home really the surprise?"

"No," he looked at her as he turned the key in the ignition. "Second of all, I'm taking my girls out to eat. As a celebration of the aforementioned genius sitting next to me. And -" Amy shut her mouth "- don't worry, I already called the gluten free bakery. They're open until seven, so we can pick up the cookies for someone's birthday party tomorrow after we eat."

* * *

It was an actual semi-melted ball of bocconcini, one of those little hand-pulled mozzarellas, that melted further on her tongue. Halved grape tomatoes in red and yellow. Fresh basil. Ribbons of wilted spinach. Swirls of aged balsamic vinegar. It was heaven. The best macaroni and cheese Amy had ever had.

So, Sheldon hadn't taken her home to get dressed up or arranged a babysitter and they weren't eating by candlelight, but the food was amazing and the game of I Spy going on between Sheldon and Ada had reached epic proportions, thus keeping their daughter from being terrible at a restaurant, this her last day of the terrible twos, and that felt like a celebration, too. And it was the best macaroni and cheese she'd ever eaten.

Yes, it was a giant bowl of refined carbohydrates and dairy products when she was trying to drastically limit her intake of both in an effort to lose some weight, which Sheldon knew. But even her protests had sounded half-hearted to her own ears, and he also knew she'd wanted to try this new little bistro for a while and had been denying herself. Or maybe he was just sick of eating salads with lean grilled meats at dinner, but, as she took another bite of the best macaroni and cheese she'd ever had, Amy didn't care.

She laughed at something Sheldon said, and he turned his gaze fully upon her, and she felt like she was basking in the Italian sun.

* * *

"No, Daddy, I want to dance!"

"But look at poor lost Mr. X. He can't remember who he is! If we rearrange these numbers, we can discover who Mr. X is!" Sheldon replied.

Amy peeked over the top her  _Journal of Neuroscience_ and the back of the sofa. Sheldon was crouched down, next to his pajama clad daughter. Ada was also wearing her pink pancake tutu - yet another gift from Penny that Amy felt conflicted about ( _But it reinforces gender stereotypes! But I don't want her to become ungrateful!_ ) - over her pajamas.

"Sheldon, is that an algebraic equation on the whiteboard?" she asked.

"No," he stood and turned. "It's lonely Mr. X who lost his identity in a lab accident. Like in a comic book." He raised an eyebrow at her.

Before Amy could inform him she didn't feel this was the appropriate juncture in their successor's space-time continuum for such a subject - algebra, not comic books - Ada demanded, "Dance with me, Daddy!"

"Very well," Sheldon sighed. He put his marker in the bin and then said, "How about the box step? It's based in geometry. Here, give me your hands."

"No, like this!" Ada put her arms up and twirled in her tutu.

"But I don't know ballet," Sheldon said.

Putting down her magazine, Amy got off the couch. She was having such a good day, she wasn't going to let this evening fall apart. Ada was getting cranky and Sheldon was getting pouty and that never ended well.

"How about this?" she picked up her iPad (7:44 p.m., it said) and quickly set up playlist based on a song before sending it to the speakers beside the televsion. As the music started, she kicked off her loafers and rounded the corner of the sofa. "Watch me, Ada."

Bending slightly, she also bent her arms in front of her and started to rotate on the balls of her feet.

_Come on, baby,  
_ _Let's do the twist_

"Amy?" Sheldon asked.

"What? They didn't teach you The Twist in your cotillion classes?" she asked him, feeling her face start to smile.

"Like this?" Ada asked, turning herself in front of Amy, a little too sporadically to count as the correct form, but she was smiling now, too.

_Take me by little hand  
_ _And go like this_

"Come on, Daddy!" Ada yelled.

Amy grinned up at him, pivoting deeper into the floor, finding her groove, "Yeah, come on, Daddy!"

First he threw his hands up in a hopeless gesture, but then he crouched down slightly and reached for her hand. Amy threw her head back and laughed, grinding her feet on the floor, setting the rhythm for her husband.

_We're gonna twisty twisty twist  
_ _Till we tear the house down_

After that, they did the Mashed Potato then the Monster Mash, all three of them howling to sound like monsters, but instead it sounded like joy.

* * *

". . . The end," Amy said softly, closing the book, looking down at Ada's beautiful hair on her lap. "Are you asleep, sweetheart?" she whispered.

"Mama, I love you," Ada said, her voice heavy.

"Ohhhh." Amy breathed out deeply. Ada had never said it first before, just sometimes a rapid little "love you, too" in response to Amy's declaration of feeling.

Gently smoothing her silky head, Amy batted a tear out of her eye, and whispered, "I love you, too, Ada."

But Ada was asleep, so Amy slipped out from beneath her, pulled the blankets up tighter, kissed her head, and turned out the light. 8:10 p.m.

* * *

Less than a minute later, Sheldon was at the white board, his arms crossed and his lips pursed above the cap of his marker. One of her favorite poses. She wrapped her arms around that alarmingly attractive blue shirt from behind.

"Still looking for the ever elusive identity of Mr. X?" she said into his back.

"Very funny. It's five and you know it."

Amy chuckled.

"I just can't figure out why I can't get her interested in algebra. She seems to enjoy geometric concepts."

"Because she's two."

"Three."

"No," Amy squeezed him tight to make her point, " _two_. Until eleven-thirty tomorrow morning. And, like most two year olds, she'd just rather have a family dance party than do math. It's not the geometry she enjoys, I think. It's sitting on your lap, doing something with you, not having you do something at her. I don't think you should push it with the algebra right now."

Sheldon grunted and she felt his arms reach up to write something in his equation. He scribbled for a moment and then he murmured, "Perhaps you're right."

"Of course I am. I'm your beautiful, genius, grant-holding wife, remember?"

"Well, when you put it that way . . . " He pulled away from her. Amy stood straighter and watched him cap his marker as he turned. "Book Club?"

"Tea?" Amy asked.

"No, thank you. I'm still full from dinner," he said, moving to the sofa.

"Actually, me too." Amy went to join him. "Thank you for dinner, Sheldon. It was the best macaroni and cheese I've ever had."

"Only the best for our celebrations." He smiled but then it fell. "I hope you weren't disappointed."

"No. It was a fun surprise. I just said I loved it. Why?"

"Maybe I should have picked a fancier restaurant, we could have come home and got all dressed up, had Raj and Stuart babysit." He shrugged.

"Oh, no, Sheldon." Amy put her hand on his arm. "It was perfect. Perfect. I've had the most wonderful day, everything's just been . . . perfect." She paused. "Ada told me she loved me. Completely on her own, out of the blue, just as I was finishing her story."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Is it bad form for me to be jealous?"

Amy smiled. "Not at all. You'll get it soon, I'm sure. And she tells us in other ways, every day, that she loves us. I was pretty certain every time she said 'I spy' to you at dinner she was saying it."

"Oh, dear." He frowned.

"What?"

"I had really hoped that we could raise Ada to say what she truly meant. I don't know if I can deal with years of not understanding my relationship with another female."

Chuckling, Amy said, "Oh, just wait until she's a teenager. You'll be wishing she didn't always say what she's thinking." Sheldon looked even more stricken, so Amy softened her tone. "Don't worry. That's years away."

"And I'll have you," he said.

The day just kept getting better. "Yes, you'll always have me." She squeezed his hand and sat back further in the sofa, getting comfortable. "Book Club? Again?"

"Oh, right." Sheldon shook his head slightly and leaned back a little himself.

"I cannot figure out how this book found its way onto your radar. Please enlighten me," Amy prompted.

"After  _Passage_  last month and then your little speech about imperfections, I did a search for books about imperfect memories. After sorting through a lot - and I do mean a plethora - of rubbish, I found this one. I just thought it sounded interesting," he explained.

"So no bigger, more well-plotted purpose?" Amy asked.

"No."

After almost six years marriage, Amy was certain he wasn't lying. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Disappointed, perhaps, that Sheldon hadn't tried to pick a romantic book - she would have loved that - and this book was certainly advertised as romantic based on the blurbs on the cover. Relieved, though, because she didn't find this book romantic at all. "Did you like it?"

"No."

"Just no? Why not? And," she added at the last second, "I didn't like it either."

"I suppose because you felt cheated by the entire premise?" Sheldon asked.

"What? Cheated how?" Amy's furrowed her brow.

"It's just ridiculous, isn't it? Like you could know everything there is to know about a couple's entire relationship just from what happened between them on one day a year! What about the other 364 days? Or 365 days on leap years? It's like . . . it's like . . . " Then his eyes widened with an idea. "It's like if someone only knew what happened to us on Book Club days and they thought that would tell them everything about our relationship!"

Amy laughed. "Don't be absurd, Sheldon, no one would want to read that."

"Exactly! And that's five more days a year than we're given in this book."

But, as so often happened, Sheldon's words had stirred some sort of thought within her, and she felt it churning, churning, becoming more solid in her brain. "You know . . . ," Amy pinched her lips slightly before continuing, "when I think about our Book Clubs, we have run the gamut of emotions and experiences. We've been happy, we've been sad, we've been angry . . . " She shrugged. "So, no, I don't feel cheated. I don't feel the basic premise of the book is the problem. What do you think the problem was?"

He sighed deeply. "Oh, there were so many problems, where do I start? Dexter is a horrible person, and I didn't understand why Emma would remain his friend let alone pine for him for years. Also, I did not understand her lack of motivation the first few years. Granted, she got her degree in the humanities, so obviously job stability is not something she thought about."

Smiling, Amy turned slightly on the sofa, bending one leg up, angling closer to Sheldon. "I agree. I also thought the exposition and the raising action sections of the book were too long in comparison the climax and the resolution."

"I disagree." Before Amy could ask why, Sheldon continued, "I thought the book was all endless exposition with hardly any rising action. One alcohol, drug, and bad Mexican food fueled year after another. Then suddenly - bam! - resolution. We didn't even get to read the climax. One year he's married to someone else, and the next they're together."

Tilting her head, Amy thought for a moment. "Yes, is it true we never got the moment they got together." She paused and took a deep breath. "Okay, we agree the structure was flawed and we disagree on whether or not the premise was flawed. Do we agree on the primary theme? Shall I read it to refresh your memory?"

"My memory never needs refreshed, rejuvenated, or refurbished. However, I do love to hear you read, so go right ahead."

Amy grinned and grabbed her Kindle off the coffee table and found the passage she had marked. "'And they did have fun, though it was of a different kind now. All that yearning and anguish and passion had been replaced by a steady pulse of pleasure and satisfaction and occasional irritation, and this seemed to be a happy exchange, if there had been times in her life when she had been more elated, there had never been a time when things had been more constant. Sometimes, she thought, she missed the intensity, not just of their romance, but of the early days of their friendship . . . No, this, she felt was real life and if she wasn't as curious or passionate as she once had been, that was only to be expected . . . No, everything had evened out and settled down and life was lived against a general background hum of comfort, satisfaction and familiarity. There would be no more of those nerve-jangling highs and lows . . . Caught in the middle; middle class, middle-aged, happy in that they were not over happy.'"

She stopped suddenly, realizing she had read even beyond her marked section. She had gotten caught up in reading, as she often did, and by the knowledge that Sheldon would let her read aloud to him as long as she liked. Raising her eyes, consciously trying to glance under her eyelashes in a coy manner, she said, "I guess I got carried away - Oh!" Her head snapped all the way up. Sheldon looked horrified. Horrified. "What?"

"You . . . you liked that passage?" he whispered in even more shock.

"Wellllll, yes . . . it's the theme of the book, the point of the whole thing. Granted, as we already discussed it's an overly long road to get there, but once the reader does it's spelled out plainly." She frowned. "Oh, you think it's too obvious, that's what you don't like about it. Well, I agree with you on that. I know we're both extremely intelligent people and we've grown accustomed to reading more complex works of literature, but -"

"But it's awful."

"Expound." She felt the tightening in her forehead that meant she was furrowing her brow.

"Don't you find it so . . . resigned?" Sheldon sighed. "Like Emma's just given up, that she's claiming to be content that nothing exciting will ever happen to her again in her entire life? That real life has to be boring?"

"I guess I didn't feel that strongly about it." Amy looked down and picked at the hem of her skirt. "I thought . . . it was realistic and pragmatic, that's all.

"Pragmatic!"

"Well, yes," she said, looking back up. "What's wrong with pragmatism? I think you and I are both pragmatic people. We see a situation, assess it logically, decide on the best course of action, follow-up through on our actions." She shrugged. "I don't see what's bad about that."

"But is that what you want?" Sheldon asked softly.

"What do you mean? I have a feeling you mean more than I do."

"Do you not want our marriage to be curious and passionate and overly happy? What is overly happy, anyway? I would have never had thought you would want to give that up. I don't want you to feel like you've been caught by anything. I  _hate_  that word here. Caught!" He flicked his hand at the wrist as he sometimes did when he was getting exasperated at something.

"You're missing the point. It's not about being caught. You're reading too much into it." Sheldon grunted and she ignored it. "You're supposed to focus on the 'steady pulse of pleasure and satisfaction' and things being more constant. Doesn't that sound like a good marriage?"

"It sounds like giving up," Sheldon grumbled.

"I do not understand this reaction, Sheldon." Even to her own ears, Amy heard her voice starting to rise. "You don't like highs and lows, you like an even, predictable keel."

"What about your whole imperfect-is-what-makes-it-perfect speech from last Book Club?" he turned, agitated, in his spot.

"Which you claimed to not understand and disagreed with!"

"I am allowed to change my opinion, you know. I should think you'd like that, too: I reflected upon your point of view and decided there is a great deal of validity in it. Goodness knows you change your mind enough!"

"Don't -" she stopped herself just in time.  _Don't ruin it._ It would have been the wrong thing to say, a horrible, terrible, completely untrue thing to say. Because Sheldon hadn't knowingly, purposely set out to ruin anything for her in a very long time. Oh, he was still Sheldon, and he could still drive her to the edge of madness with his snide comments and his childish demands and his . . . particularities. The worst was the way he obviously inspected the house every week after the cleaning service had come, denying that was what he is doing, denying he was gaging their performance against his impossibly high standards even while standing with his hands on hips, tilting his head back, sniffing the air - sniffing the air, for goodness sake!, like a giant beagle - in an absurd attempt to determine from smell alone if the correct ratio of cleaning fluid to water had been used.

And what was she really allowing to become an argument, anyway? What should be a simple disagreement about the semantics of a few vocabulary choices in a book. A book they both agreed they disliked and was poorly paced. Wasn't that what Book Club was really about, what she wanted all those years ago when she started it: provoking each other with different thoughts and opinions about a novel? Additionally, wasn't Sheldon just saying he had given serious thought to something she had said and had concluded she was correct? Most importantly, wasn't Sheldon saying that he still wanted the breathtaking highs of their early love affair, even now, almost six years into their marriage?

He was her Sheldon for all time, and she wouldn't want him any other way. She never wanted to lose those times she looked at him and she felt overly happy to have him in her life. He was still just as handsome and lanky and brilliant, but he was also calmer and more mature and a thoughtful husband and a gentle lover and a wildly successful father and . . . and he was correct, as usual. His imperfections have only made him even more perfect in her eyes. The imperfections in their marriage, such as this weird misunderstanding and almost argument about a book, only made it more perfect in the long run, honing its edges, exercising its strengths.

Cocking his head gradually further, Sheldon had waited for her to continue her thought. Amy leaned forward and put her index finger on his lips, those soft, pink lips, and she hushed a line from the book, "'And then some days you wake up and everything is perfect.'"

His lips tried to open behind her finger, but Amy pressed more firmly. "Don't let me ruin it," she whispered. "Today has been perfect. You've been perfect. Don't let  _me_  ruin it."

Although his eyebrows dipped a little in confusion, he nodded behind her finger. She lifted it away from his lips.

"You know, it didn't start perfectly. I loved that  _Star Wars_  shirt. However," Sheldon looked down at his chest, "this shirt has really grown on me. I received several compliments today." He looked back up. "Perhaps I should add it to the rotation permanently? If for no other reason than you bought it for me?"

Amy leaned forward and sealed the day with a kiss.


	84. Perfect

**Perfect**

* * *

February 14, 2015

_Gentle, slow, gentle, slow . . ._ but even the words came too fast in his mind.  _Oh God, oh God, oh God, this is amazing!_

Amy made some sort of little sound, something like a gasp but with a hint of groan behind it. He managed to stop, gripping the sheet beside her to keep from collapsing, and look at her, trying to ascertain what that noise meant. Was she in pain? But just being there, not even moving . . .  _I have to move, I have to move._

She opened her eyes, and even in the dim light from the hallway, he saw something new. An original smile spread out upon her face, slow and beautiful, like dawn breaking over the horizon, like she had just discovered the secret to the universe.  _I have found my inner hippy and it is apparently inside of Amy._

A whisper, deep and husky. Intense. Potent. Over-powering. "I love you."

It was perfect.

* * *

February 15, 2015

Satisfaction. Not even hers, although she felt herself coming down from a high. Instead, the look on his face. He was so satisfied with himself.

Amy bit her lip and smiled shyly. She said softly, hesitantly, "Was I too -"

"Shhhh . . . " he whispered. Sheldon shifted above her, slowly, cautiously in the soft morning light. "You were only too beautiful."

She had to bat her eyelashes to keep the tears from falling. Instead, as he entered her, slower, more gently than the first time, she started to whisper, all those things her heart had been holding secret for years.

* * *

August 1, 2016

"Amy?"

He reached over and held her face lightly in his palms. "I don't deserve you."

"Please, Sheldon, you promised you wouldn't keep saying thing like that," Amy said gently.

"No, listen to me. I don't deserve you. Physically. Not tonight. Maybe not for many, many nights to come. But . . . " he looked down "I want to lose myself in you. That's the only place I ever want to be lost. Because, and this makes no sense to me, it's like being lost and discovered at the exact time time. It's like the beginning and the end. Where the light side and the Dark Side meet. It's . . . " he looked up "everything perfect I've ever known."

"Oh, Sheldon," she whispered.

He kissed her, very softly, letting his lips linger on hers.

* * *

April 10, 2017

"Sheldon, do you think we should go to bed?" Amy asked.

"It's only eight," he turned, surprised.

"Yes, I know. I just think . . . since Leonard and Penny went to a movie . . . we're alone in the house."

Sheldon swallowed. Yes, they were alone. But - "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

Amy took his hand. "You know I got my staples out today. And that I passed all the memory cognition tests you found on the Internet for me; there are no residual effects from my concussion. And . . . " her voice lowered ". . . my period has been over for two days now."

His heart hammered in his chest. Looking at her beautiful face, the face he thought he'd never see again in the evening light . . . his was the luckiest man alive. And she wanted his baby. And he wanted all of her, even more of her, he wanted her to expand and bifurcate and saturate every last nook and cranny of his life. Sheldon nodded and turned off the television, getting up and following Amy to the guest bedroom.

Once he was there, he stroked her face, running his fingertip over the planes and curves, brushing her eyebrows. He had once done this before, when he thought he didn't even have the courage to let her touch him but he wanted her to know how badly he was trying.

"Are you nervous?" she whispered.

"Amy, I -" his voice broke. "I thought I lost you that night, you know. And now you're here again. Whole again. It's too much."

"Shhh, shhh." Amy pulled him close. He let his head fall to her chest, not really crying, just allowing a tear or two slip out onto her breast. He didn't think he had the courage to be a father, either, but he wanted her to know how badly he would try for her.

He kissed her breast and found his way to the her nipple, reveling in her intake of breath. They didn't speak again, and they made quiet, slow love in guest bed of Leonard and Penny's house. He avoided touching the side of her head, where she still had an angry looking scar. She kept her legs still, careful not to cause any pain to his still very sore ankle.

Right before he climaxed, it crossed his mind this was first time, the very first time, they were making love without anything to stop nature from taking its course. Just a man and woman, deeply in love, finding each other again after a tragedy, hoping to make something new together.

Still there, even with his breath panting, still a part of her, not wanting to ever leave her again, he put his head down on her breast again and allowed more tears to fall. It was too much.

* * *

August 8, 2017

The slam of the bedroom door startled her, but not as much as the sight of Sheldon, still in his windbreaker, suddenly on his knees, his face pressed against her stomach, his fingers a working the bottom button on her cardigan.

"Sheldon?" But her body was already responding.  _Stop it! What if this isn't sexual at all?_

"Let me see it. I've been thinking about it all day," he replied. Already, her cardigan was unbuttoned up to her bra, and her blouse was not far behind. There wasn't even time for the air to hit her exposed stomach before Sheldon's lips were upon it.

"See, it's still there," she said softly.  _God, his lips!_

"You are so beautiful," Sheldon murmured, now caressing her barely-present baby bump with his cheek. "And, right now, it's like it's our secret, hidden behind your cardigan. The bump, I mean."

"Sheldon," she swallowed. "I don't know if it's hormones or what, but you need to stop that or you'll get me hot and bothered." Her knees already felt weak. "And Leonard and Penny are home."

His thumb was suddenly on the button of her skirt. Then the zipper.  _Oh, Jesus ._  . . this was sexual after all. "Sheldon . . . "

Too late, her skirt and her underwear were at her ankles. His blue eyes burned up her brightly, asking. She looked down and nodded. "Oh, God!" Had his finger always felt like that? She braced her hands on the top of his head, his cheek still flush with her stomach even as his fingers were doing acrobatics with other parts of her.

"Sheldon, we've got to move. I can't - be - quiet - like - this -" she could hardly keep her head up. She had never been this close, this fast.

"Let them hear."

And hear they did. Probably on the next block. Not once but twice. Even with Sheldon's other strong arm wrapped around her hips she could not stay upright. She almost fell over in the time it took him to lower his pants and then she was on him. Wow, the third time really was the charm.

Lying on the guest room floor, looking up the ceiling, both of them still partially dressed, Amy thought she saw stars. Then she heard the distance sound of the oven timer going off.

"I suppose we'd better go eat. There's no way we can deny we're having sex in their house anymore," Sheldon said.

Amy rolled away from him, laughing so hard it hurt.

Twenty minutes later . . .

"Oh, lasagna! I'm starving," Amy cheered sitting down. "Being pregnant is hard work."

"Me, too!" Sheldon grabbed the spatula to serve her. "Having a pregnant wife is hard work."

Only then did Amy notice Leonard and Penny staring at them, their arms crossed, their plates still pristine in front of them. "Aren't you guys eating?"

* * *

August 29, 2017

_Oh, Mary and Joseph._   _Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, God._ No, it was even bigger than that. _"_ Oh, Sheldon!"

She thought when she opened her eyes he would be there, but she was only met with the sight of guest bedroom ceiling. Amy raised her head and looked down, but her stomach was just large enough now she could only made out the top of his dark hair. What was he doing down there still?

Opening her mouth to ask, she felt the touch of his tongue again. "OH, SHELDON COOPER!"

Her head fell back in exquisite pleasure.

* * *

November 1, 2017

Majestic. Her arms reached back, beside his ears. Her head tilted back, too, as she licked her pink lips. He could look down, over her shoulder, see her fuller breasts, that growing stomach . . . It wasn't weird or creepy at all, which he had been afraid it would be. The entire sight was the text book definition of erotic. Why was it no one ever told him that? The sight of a pregnant woman, that was nothing special. The sight of your naked pregnant wife as she sat in front of you while you brought her to climax? Glorious.

* * *

April 9, 2018

"Shhh," he put his finger to her lips. "No talking. Just relax."

Leaning down again, he started at her chin, kissing it softly on the underside. She didn't have a double chin, not really, but she had been worried about that, when she saw one of the photographs from the baby shower. He traced his tongue down to her huge breasts, running it along the sides, the angry red marks of stretch marks, even there. Her nipples and aureole, darker and larger now; just a gentle kiss there, briefly, still uncertain how exactly to handle them now that they had a greater purpose. He buried his face in her stomach, fuller, rounder, softer, and, yes, flabbier. Pushing gently with his mouth, kissing each extra pound, running his tongue along the stretch marks here. Down the sides of her hips, even wider than before. Stretch marks there, too; how her body had suffered for their joy! Soft kisses along her inner thigh, where some of her capillaries were closer to the surface now.

Silently willing her not to speak, not to ask, he reached over for the bottle of lubricant. Too embarrassed to meet her eyes that he felt watching him intently, he paused, indecisive for just a moment. Where, exactly, should he put it? He took a deep breath and squirted some on his fingers, rubbing them slightly, his mind automatically analyzing the strange feeling. There was still the fear she would ask about the lubricant; not that it was secret, of course - he'd left the bottle conspicuously on his night stand, after all - but he didn't want to ruin the moment bringing up his doubts and certainly not Howard's name. But she didn't ask; perhaps it had been embarrassing for her, too.

He gently put his fingers where she liked them, and Amy moaned in response. That was a good sign. He stretched out next to her, so he could kiss her face.

"Is this good?" he whispered.

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "Thank you."

He smiled softly and carefully studied her again, learning each of her responses as though it was first time once more, making it last as long as he could for her. If she shifted, he followed her, letting her lead him where she wanted. Twice the barely touched the top of his hand, and he pressed hard in that exact spot. As she climaxed, he leaned closer to kiss her cheek and whispered, "You are so beautiful."

* * *

January 31, 2021 (present day)

It felt like a cliché, the man waiting in bed, nude, for his bride to come to him in lingerie, pretending to be surprised, as though she had spun the lacy concoction herself during the inordinate about of time she spent in the bathroom "slipping into something more comfortable." Sheldon was not a woman ( _obviously! look at me!_ ), but he never thought all those straps and seams and missing sections of fabric looked comfortable.

A real man thought about his woman's comfort, and bought her a jersey nightdress that the could wear on a regular basis. A real man also received the delivery confirmation email and noticed her bag bulging on the way home from work, so he couldn't really be surprised by its sudden appearance in the bedroom. However, the overstuffed purse on the way home and lack of comment from Amy meant that she hoped to surprise him. He'd play along, if for no other reason than she wanted it that way. And Book Club had gotten weird for a bit, and he knew she was having a wonderful day and he didn't want to ruin it.

"Who wants a surprise?" Amy asked, peeking just her head around the corner from the bathroom, her glasses already off, her green eyes flashing.

"Um, I do?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "You know, then, don't you?"

"But I haven't seen it on you. And that's all that matters!"

A small smile. "Good save. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for five to seven business days."

Laughing, Amy stepped over to the side of the bed bed, one hand on her hip, an extra sashay to her walk. Sheldon made a small sound of appreciation. Sunflowers, the TARDIS, mid-thigh, a deep V in the front . . . worth the wait.

"Shall I twirl to give you the full effect?" Amy asked.

His mouth suddenly dry in anticipation, he just made the twirling sign with his hand. The skirt would flare and rise up, and he'd catch a teasing glance of her wonderful backside and her - "You're wearing underwear!"

"I believe that Miss Smarty Pants was promised a later, so here Miss Smarty Pants is, complete with all types of pants," Amy smirked. Then she ducked over and lifted the bottom of her new nightdress up, mooning him with her pale blue underwear.

Pale blue, black trim, and some sort of gold ric rac flashed before Sheldon's eyes. "Amy, are you wearing . . .  _Star Trek_  underwear? Original series science officer to be precise?"

She turned back around. "I bought them the year I dressed as Nurse Chapel for Halloween. To be thorough. And precise."

"Mmmmm, I like thorough. And precise. But," Sheldon raised an eyebrow, "are you purposely mixing your fandoms? I would have thought Miss Smarty Pants knew better."

"Oh, Dr. Cooper," Amy cooed, pulling the front of her gown just enough to let him peak at a hint of blue again, "Miss Smarty Pants has been a bad, bad girl. I think she may need -" she dropped her voice to a horse whisper "- spanked."

"Dr. Cooper concurs." He threw off the covers and patted his lap.

Amy squealed and launched herself on the bed toward him.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	85. Year Six

**. . .**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Six**

* * *

"I love you more."

"I love you more!"

"No, I love you more!"

"Impossible. I love you more!"

"I love you a gizzallion!"

"I love you times a trillion to the tenth power!"

Amy yawned as she rounded the corner to the great room, her arms folded across her bathrobe, her hair tangled. "Not everything is a contest, you two."

Sheldon and Ada looked over at her, both of them in plaid pajamas, Ada standing in his spot on the sofa, Sheldon standing in front of her, now almost the same height, face to face.

"We're practicing," Ada said.

"Practicing for what?"

"Shhhhh," Sheldon said, and then reached over to his end table. "Here," he held something out to Ada.

Taking the offered item, Ada scrambled off the sofa and went running toward Amy. Her eye brows dipping in confusion, Amy bent slightly to take the small yellow note from her daughter and then read it as she ran away from her.

"I love you more than Mrs. Dalloway loved parties."

She looked up and smiled at Sheldon, and he met her smile, even as he handed Ada another note to carry across the rug. Amy took this one, too.

"I love you more than Mr. Stevens loved Miss Kenton."

Then Ada scampered over with yet another. "I love you more than Waverly loved chess."

Again. "I love you more than Don loved Rosie."

And again. "I love you more than Joanna loved the unknown."

The Post-It note relay continued. "I love you more than Dexter loved Emma."

Just when she thought it was over, one more yellow paper came her way, via Ada's little hand and pattering feet. "I love you more."

Amy looked over at Sheldon, still standing by his spot, watching her carefully as she smiled. "You're wrong," she said quietly.

"I doubt it. I'm never wrong," he said back, his eyes soft and full. Then he took a breath, turned his head, looked down at his mini-me, and said, "Who wants French toast for breakfast this Valentine's Day?"

"Me! Me!"

Later, in the dark, as he brushed her skin, Sheldon whispered, "I can't breathe without you in the room."

Amy brushed his skin back, and said, "I have loved you for so long, I can't remember a time when I didn't love you."

Then, together, they whispered, "I love you more."

* * *

"Don't tell me what you're feeding her for dinner; I want plausible deniably when Amy is outraged by the discovery. Bath time is at 7:30 -  _sharp_  - and lasts no longer than ten minutes. You dress her in her pajamas. Lately, there's been an unnatural love affair for someone of her certain IQ with that tutu Penny bought all the girls for Christmas; if she asks for it, explain the concepts of packing and not always getting what we want with us when we travel because of TSA regulations. However, do not veer into a tangent about weapons of mass destruction; her mother does not approve of that subject matter at her age. Brush her teeth after the bath. I know it's not immediately before bed, but we have learned via rigorous scientific testing it's the least distracting time. After her bath, we normally engage in some sort of educational activity. Don't worry, I've already written that off as a loss for tonight. So feel free to engage in whatever non-educational activities pass for fun down here on the fifth floor. Then, at 8:00 -  _sharp!_ \- she's goes to bed. You read one book only once, and one book only. She may try to persuade you otherwise, but remain firm. Amy has put the correct volume in her bag. Typical goodnight pleasantries are exchanged - only once, you'll have to be firm on that, too - and then you turn off the light and shut the door. She will wake up at 6:30 -"

"Really, Sheldon? We turn off the light to sleep? I had no idea. In India, the sun burns so hot it stays light all night long." Raj stood with hands on his hips, his face not exactly what Sheldon would call amused.

"I suspect that was sarcasm," Sheldon said, gripping Ada's little hand tighter as he stood with her just inside their front door, even though he could feel her getting antsy. Were Raj and Stuart up to the challenge after all? She may look like a normal fidgety three year old right now, but she was a genius!

"At least Amy has taught you one thing. And we've babysat before, so we can handle a sleepover." Raj shook his head and bent down to Ada's level. "We're going to have tons of fun and still manage to stay alive tonight, right Princess Ada?"

"Yeah! Let's start!" Ada yelled, letting go of Sheldon's hand to take Raj's. It felt like a stab through the heart.

"Amy has taught me many useful things. Including that you shouldn't call Ada that. Amy doesn't approve of inculcating young girls into the beliefs that princesses perpetrate," Sheldon said.

"That's rich, coming from a woman who used to wear a tiara every chance she got."

"Hey! She may be illogical, she's still my wife!" Then Sheldon paused. "And I've learned entirely on my own that there is no explaining the female mind. Trust the voice of experience, the tiara-princess connection in not an argument you will win. You should be glad you've decided to stop dodging the bullet that is a woman's version of logic."

"You can say that again," Stuart said, finally appearing from around the corner. "Hello, Miss Ada! Are you excited to be hanging out here tonight? Do you want to see the new finger paints I bought us?"

"Yes!" Ada hopped away from them, then, actually hopping after Stuart like a rabbit on the way to their kitchen table. Sheldon sat her bag down on the floor.  _She didn't even say good-bye._

"I guess that's it, then. Thank you again. We'll come get her . . . mid-morning?"

Raj nodded and put his hands in his pants pockets. "Are you still going out? Amy looked pretty rough this afternoon."

"She's being very insistent about it," Sheldon replied. "She claims she doesn't have a fever. I intend to check it myself when I return upstairs."

"Well, whatever you decide to do, have a nice time." It sounded final.

"Thank you," Sheldon mumbled, looking over at Stuart and Ada, as he was already helping her put on a paint-splattered men's dress shirt over her clothes. Daddy, it appeared, was already forgotten. "Good-bye."

With a deep sigh, he turned to leave, smoothing his tie. He took a step out and the door clicked behind him. Yes, already forgotten. What was it his mother said when Ada went to stay with her in Texas last year? Leaving is always hardest on the parent.

A few steps down the hallway toward the stairwell and he heard the door open behind him again, and Sheldon turned just in time to see Ada flying out, running toward him, her arms outstretched. He crouched down quickly to absorb the force of her hug, only thinking at the very last second that he hoped there was no wet paint on that shirt to ruin his suit.

"Good-bye, Daddy," she said into his shoulder. "I love you."

It felt like his heart had just been shot out of a cannon of joy into the stratosphere. "Oh, Ada." He swallowed deeply. "I love you, too."

But then she was gone again, pulling away, running back to the funhouse that was Uncle Raj's and Uncle Stuart's where there were no rules and a dog and finger painting (he shivered at the very idea) and goodness knew what other unstructured craziness. But it was him she had ran down the hallway toward when she realized he was leaving without good-bye. It was him she loved. Sheldon sighed and stood and watched all three of them go back inside with a final wave. He would have never thought he could love someone as much as he loved Amy.

Shaking his head, he climbed the two flights of stairs and let himself into their condominium. "Amy, guess wh- Amy?"

His head swiveled, looking for her. He thought she would have been dressed and ready when he returned, as planned. The quiet was unexpected, and he walked with some reservation down the hallway. No, Amy wasn't in the bedroom, either. Then he hear a strong shuffling sound in the closet and he walked over to investigate.

Amy was sitting - if that was the correct term - on the floor, leaning against one the wooden partitions, her legs akimbo, one high heel on, one high laying on the floor.

"Amy? Are you okay? Did you fall?" he rushed to her side.

"It's okay. High heels are dangerous," she said, but her red nose was so congested she didn't even sound like herself.

"Here," he reached out his hands to help her up, and as she came up, she suddenly lunged forward into his arms. "Perhaps you should have taken off the other shoe first." Amy wobbled again. "I'm putting you back down."

Sheldon tried to lower her gently, but she ended up collapsing. He reached down and touched her forehead. "You have a fever."

"No, I don't. I feel fine."

"Yes, you do. You're burning up, your eyes are glistening and not in a come-hither way, and you can you barely stand." He crouched down to remove her remaining high heel. That was what happened after six years of marriage: Prince Charming has to help a very stubborn Cinderella remove her shoes.

"No, it's our anniversary. So I feel fine."

"Amy, those concepts are not automatically linked. You can be ill on our anniversary."

"No, I can't. We have reservations."

"We'll cancel."

Sheldon reached over to start untying the belt on her wrap dress (aubergine, this one was new), and Amy attempted to slap his hand but barely made weak contact. "No, we have a babysitter."

"Raj already postulated to me the possibility that you were too ill to go out and implied they would still enjoy watching Ada," Sheldon said, at last untying her dress and pulling the lengthy pieces away. Not the way he had planned on removing her beautiful new dress tonight.

"Traito -oo -oor - choooooo!"

Sheldon managed to duck just in time, and the disgustingly large amount of nasal mucus landed on Amy's hand. "I'll go get you a washcloth."

Returning with the wet cloth, he passed it over to his wife. She washed her arm and then looked up at him, as though she was going to speak. "Here, you've got some on your upper lip," he said, taking the the cloth from her. No, definitely not the way he planned his anniversary going.

After he had cleaned her face, he helped her pull off the rest of her dress and her bra. "Before I put your nightgown on, do you want some Vicks rubbed on your chest?"

"No," Amy shook her head. "I hate that stuff."

"But, Amy!, you used to sing its medicinal praises!"

She groaned and thumped her head against the wooden portion. What that meant, he wasn't sure, but he took it as a sign that she was still refusing. He went to get a clean nightgown and helped her lower it over her arms. "Come on, to bed with you."

She didn't protest as he helped her to the bedroom, lowering the blankets and pulling them back over her, and removing her glasses. "This pillow is so cool," she murmured, rotating to rest her cheek against it.

"It feels that way because you have a fever," Sheldon said. "I'm going to get some Tylenol for it and big glass of water, and then I'll come back and sing Soft Kitty to you."

"I hate that song!" Amy said halfheartedly.

"No, you don't, no one hates that song. You're just disappointed," Sheldon shook his head and walked to the bathroom, loosening his tie along the way. He thought Amy was was asleep when he returned, so he set the glass and the Tylenol bottle on her end table. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Sheldon?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

"I'll sorry I ruined our anniversary."

"You couldn't help it," he shrugged. "They'll be more."

"Thank you for taking care of me when I'm sick."

"I would tell you it's part of the Martial Agreement, but we don't have one of those." He helped Amy sit up and take the pills and encouraged her to drink, citing the need for fluids when one is ill. Then he tucked her back in, smoothing her hair away from her forehead.

"It must be love then," she said with an exhale and he could tell she had already dropped off to sleep, without Soft Kitty or the news about what Ada had said to him.

"It always was," he whispered back to his first love, his greatest love. He left the room on quiet tip-toes and went to cancel their anniversary dinner reservation.

* * *

**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**


	86. Two Across

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2021**

**Primary Topic: _Two Across_ by Jeff Bartsch**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Go the F**k to Sleep_ by Adam Mansbach _, Bon Appétit! The Delicious Life of Julie Child_ by Jessie Hartland**

* * *

Pulling it out of his bag, waiting for the kettle to whistle, Sheldon frowned again. He just didn't understand. Oh, there were obvious things he understood about it. The words, for insistence, were as simple as the words in any children's book. He even understood why Howard had given it to him, an action no doubt predicated by his rant at lunch a couple of days prior. As the word rant implied, he also understood, all too well, the frustration of the unnamed parent in this book. But he didn't understand -

The kettle whistled, and he quickly left the book on the dining table as he hurried to the kitchen to make the mugs of tea. He didn't want any extra noise to wake Ada. Or keep her awake; that was something else he didn't understand. He was dunking the teabags into the mugs when Amy's footfalls entered the great room.

Sheldon looked up. "Is she asleep?"

"I think so. But then, I've thought that before," Amy said and shrugged, coming to take the hot tea Sheldon was offering her.

Making a noise composed of equal parts understanding (of Amy's statement) and confusion (in agreement with the meaning of Amy's statement), Sheldon took a drink and then quickly backed his mouth away. At least the tea was hot, too hot to drink, that was clear and certain.

What had happened to Ada? They had survived ear infections, teething, tantrums, rapidly changing opinions about clothing, melt-downs, whining, and her recent perfunctory resistance to eating vegetables. Although most of those things were irrational, to be sure, they all felt contained. Either they were short lived because of an illness, or they could be handled and forgotten not even an hour later. What was it his mother often said? "This, too, shall pass."

What was not passing was this new phase of getting out of bed after bedtime. No end seemed in sight and there seemed to be no explanation for this change. Should Amy be able to explain it because it was somehow biologically driven? Should he be able to explain it because it was somehow related to the schedule? They were at a loss. And it was ruining his quiet evenings with Amy. Not only was their adult time interrupted, but somehow it caused a tension to hang in the air between them, the constant holding of breath, the continual waiting for another intrusion.

"- Book Club?" Amy's query called him back.

"Hmmmm? Oh, yes."

Amy smiled sadly and rubbed her hand along his arm. "Still thinking about your argument with Leonard?"

Sheldon shook his head. Another thing he suspected about Howard's gift. It was a wisecrack about the heated words exchanged between him and Leonard after the rant in the cafeteria. Or maybe a commiseration. Or both.

"An intrusion?" Leonard had asked, his brow more furrowed than usual. "She's your child."

"Indeed. That does not mean, however, she is incapable of intrusion. Being my child, she is capable of a great deal of things and she excels at all of them," had been Sheldon's reply.

"Yeah, as Sheldon's kid she got a double helping of the getting-in-the-way-when-least-wanted gene," Howard said.

"Getting in the way when least wanted!" Leonard repeated. "Again, Sheldon, she's your daughter! What a terrible thing to say!"

"I didn't say it. He did," Sheldon pointed out. Raj chuckled.

"What a terrible thing for a parent to say! Your children are precious gifts, Sheldon, they are are only babies for a few months."

"Ada is not a baby. And you only say that because you and Penny seem incapable of living without a newborn in the house. The only creatures you're more intelligent than."

"Ouch," Raj added.

"Hey, we are very excited about this new baby!" Leonard threw down his napkin.

"Three kids, Leonard? You'll be outnumbered. I sense an uprising in your future," Howard said.

"Probably of the leporidae variety, as they're procreating with the proclivity of rabbits," Sheldon added. Howard and Raj laughed.

"I cannot believe you," Leonard said, standing. "Why did you become a parent if you're only going to complain? And it's not your decision how many children Penny and I choose to have! And they will never be an intrusion!"

"At least I knew when to stop." Then Sheldon had yelled after Leonard's back, "Remember this when Fenny starts intruding on your attempts to accidentally create newborn number four!"

Things had been cool between them in the two days since. Amy had said he either needed to sincerely apologize for insinuating himself into Leonard and Penny's personal decisions on reproduction or, if he genuinely felt he had acted appropriately, then he needed to forget about it and wait for things to naturally heal. Although her words were measured, her tone clearly implied which she thought was the correct course of action to take. However, the disagreement still rankled; Howard complained about parenting all the time, so why did Sheldon get struck down so forcefully the one time he allowed himself to express unhappiness with his child? And, worse, was Leonard correct? Was he a bad father?

"Amy, speaking of books, look at this one Howard brought to my office today. I don't understand it," Sheldon said quickly. He went to pick up the book and handed it to her.

Her eyebrows went up at the cover, and then she started to smile as she read, still standing. After a few pages, she chuckled and looked up. "What don't you understand?"

"Are we . . . do you think it's meant for us to read it to Ada?" he whispered the question. "It has curse words in it."

Amy threw her head back and laughed. Sheldon raised his eyebrows. He was being serious. Why wasn't she? "Oh, Sheldon, thank you, I needed that laugh." Her hand came up and rubbed his cheek. "I'm sorry, you look alarmed. It's a joke book, for parents. No, of course we're not supposed to read it to her. It's a form of . . . satire, I guess, about other bedtime stories."

Sheldon felt his face flush. He felt so stupid, and that was not a feeling to which he was accustomed. And certainly not one he enjoyed. He mumbled, "I don't get satire."

"Sometimes you do," Amy said softly.

"Amy? Do you think . . . am I bad father?"

"Good heavens! No!" Her eyebrows went up alarmingly high.

Nodding, Sheldon said, "Is it bad that I don't think so, either?"

"I'd be very concerned if you did," she said. Then she set the book back down on the table and picked her mug up. "The sofa?"

"Of course." He followed her to the couch. "At least our Book Club selection wasn't satirical."

"No, not at all." Amy settled in next to him. This was just the type of quiet time he loved with her.

"Shall venture a guess on why you selected this book?" Sheldon asked.

Her mug to her lips, Amy nodded.

"It was advertised as a book about two people who fell in love over crossword puzzles. You love crossword puzzles and you love making me read romance novels, ergo . . . Book Club."

Putting her mug down, Amy said, "I don't always pick romance novels, Sheldon. And last time I picked our selection, it was a book about neuroscience and memories and you hated it."

" _We_  hated it," Sheldon corrected her.

Amy smiled and tilted her head in reply. "Yes,  _we_  hated it." She paused. "Well, it sounds bad to admit it now, but - in this one instance! - I did pick this book because it was advertised as a story about people falling in love over crossword puzzle clues." Then she frowned. "But I expected there would be more clues."

"The clues were crowded out by everything else: spelling bees, college applications, long cons, WWII training, absent parents, cheating scandals, missing persons, agoraphobia, bad marriages -"

"So what you're saying is you hated it?" Amy interrupted him. Perhaps his list was too long; he couldn't help it, he just remembered it all so well.

"Actually, no," Sheldon lowered his eyes to his mug, ran his thumb around the edge of it, and then took a drink.

Tilting her head, Amy waited in that way she had of patiently drawing him from where he least wanted to be drawn. Finally Sheldon took a breath and quoted, "'Stanley suspected he had shortcomings in matters of the heart . . . Stanley had the book smarts of three PhDs combined, but was blind to the obvious path he should take in his relationship with Vera.'"

Leaning forward, Amy put her mug on the coffee table. She sat back, turning, and took Sheldon's free hand between her own two. "Sheldon Lee Cooper, look at me." And then she waited calmly again until he was forced to look in her beautiful green eyes. "I love you. You are my husband. You are the father of my beautiful child. The wonderful father! Was the road to this moment perhaps overly long and arduous? Yes, at times. But I wouldn't change it for the world. While I can applaud your ability to recognize your own faults as reflected in literature - I think that's good for anyone - I did not intend for Book Club to become a litany of your faults. I do not want every Book Club to be filled with a moment of guilt or doubt that you plucked from the pages of a book. Please do not continue to punish yourself. I forgive you for all those missteps during our courtship, if that's what you need to hear. Sheldon, from where I sit, right here with you, holding you, I see no shortcomings of your heart. To me you are . . ." She paused, and he saw her mind working, searching, and then settling. "Bioluminescent."

Opening his mouth, another voice came to them. "I'm thirsty."

A deep sigh escaped as he pulled his hand away from Amy and looked over her shoulder. "Ada."

"I'm thirsty," she repeated.

"No, you aren't," Amy said, turning and standing. "You drank plenty of water at dinner, I saw you." She walked over to their daughter, standing at the edge of the hallway, and took her hand. "Come one, we're going back to bed." They disappeared together.

Sheldon sat and sipped. This is exactly what he was talking about! They couldn't even have Book Club, for crying out loud! His favorite adult activity with Amy. No, his favorite he would talk about in the cafeteria at work.

"Where were we?" Amy asked, returning.

"You were just comparing me to a glowworm," Sheldon said.

Giving the slightest hint of chuckle, Amy said, "Despite your joke, I think you are intelligent enough to know what I meant." Then her face became more stern. "Seriously, no more guilt?"

Sheldon nodded his head firmly. "No more."

Amy retrieved her neglected mug of tea and took a drink, then wrinkled her nose and put it down. "Too cool now. Okay, other than that quote - which was a lovely section, I'll grant you that - where there other things you enjoyed about this book?"

"I liked his proposal."

Her brow furrowing, Amy asked, "Really?"

"I liked that he asked her to be his accomplice." Sheldon shrugged when Amy's eyebrows didn't relax. "It was clear what he wanted, how their marriage would be."

"A marriage of crime and subordination?" Amy asked, and he felt the sharp point of her feminism claw starting to extend.

"Yes. No. Well, yes, that's what he meant. But not what I mean," he hastened to add. "I think a marriage proposal should be very clear."

"You're going to have to explain that a little further. Especially since your proposal consisted of 'what day would work well for you this week to make this thing official?'"

"That's very clear!" Sheldon sighed and then took another deep breath. "Make it official means that the parameters have already been defined, the parties just need to legalize them. Our parameters were defined by your cadre, and I quote: 'love, respect, allowing self-expression, the importance of apologizing, the importance of accepting a sincere apology, the importance of talking things through, the importance of not bottling fears or sorrows up inside ourselves.'"

Amy looked at him a minute and then shook her head softly. "Well, when you put it like that . . . yes, you're right."

"Besides, Miss Literature, do you feel accomplice is always a bad word?" Sheldon asked.

"The connotation is a partnership for a crime, and the accomplice is usually the partner with the lesser role, not the mastermind. But, yes, I've seen partners in crime also used in a more light-hearted sense, two people in the thick of something together, making it work, striving toward a common goal -"

"Mama, I'm hot." They heard Ada before she even rounded the corner. This time Sheldon heard Amy sigh as she turned.

"If you're hot, then remove your comforter," she said.

"It's too heavy." Ada was hugging the edge of the wall, fidgeting with one of her feet, rolling around on the ball, sweeping her leg out.

"No, it's not," Amy said firmly. She sighed again and stood. "I will help you fold it away and then you will return to bed and sleep." They went down the hall again, but Sheldon noticed Amy made no move to hold Ada's hand this time.

Sheldon sincerely hoped that Ada heard and understood the edge in her voice. He knew that tone was not one to be trifled with, but then young children were very good at trifling with things they should not. This time, without any tea to drink, all he could do was sit with his arms crossed and fume. This absolutely had to stop! Amy was getting frustrated, and he was frustrated already.

Hearing Amy's footsteps, he looked up and dropped his arms. "That was quick," he said.

"Only because I refused to stay," Amy said crisply, sitting down again. Then she sighed and her shoulders slumped. Sheldon waited, unsure what he should say. Was Book Club over? Had Ada's interruptions officially ruined it? Then Amy shook her shoulders, as if throwing something off, and she turned to him on the sofa. Her face looked more relaxed, and than made Sheldon relax. Some.

"Okay, before we completely lose this Book Club, this is what I wanted to say about this book: I loved it. Maybe it shouldn't work for all the reasons you mentioned earlier - it really was stuffed full of topics like a Thanksgiving turkey - but somehow it did. It was fast and so well written that I just fell under its spell. I felt Vera's pain, I respected her decision to stand up for herself, to try and find her own way in life . . ." she shrugged. "I guess I just really liked it, that's all."

"I have several Book Clubs under my belt now, so I'm wise enough to say that if you really like a book, maybe that should be reason enough." He grinned at her. "And I really liked it, too. I could empathize and understand both of the main characters at different times. But the ending . . ."

Amy's hand went up to touch her chest, as though she was shielding it. Or touching a wound there. Sheldon knew this, because, at the moment he read it, he felt a wound in the exact same location himself. He quoted, softly, "'She called him Mr. Know-It-All. Every time he opened his mouth to spout out his knowledge of some esoteric tidbit they came across in the priceless humdrum of their daily living, she put her forefinger to his lips and stopped him by planting a kiss there . . . Two oranges in a world of apples. When something as precious as lifelong true love is gained, something of comparable value -"

Her forefinger touched his lips, and Amy leaned forward to replace it with her own lips. "No, don't finish it," she whispered. "If you don't finish it, it never happened." She sat back but continued to whisper, "And I would never stop you from spouting your esoteric knowledge."

"I would never keep you waiting beneath the clock at Grand Central Station. I am a very punctual person," he softly replied, leaning ever closer to her lips. "Also, did you know the clock was designed by Henry Edward Bedford and is made from brass and each face is made of opalescent glass, and it's valued at -"

"Daddy." Ada popped around the corner again.

Groaning loudly, his frustration threatening to boil over into pure anger, Sheldon pulled back sharply and shot Amy a look. She spread her palms helplessly in reply. He got up, swiftly took a few steps with his long legs, and knelt down in front of his daughter.

"What do you want?" he asked, and he could hear the almost anger in his voice. Good, maybe then Ada would grasp how unhappy he was with her at this moment.

Her blue eyes shifted away from him first, and then her head followed. "I'm . . .

"Ada, listen to me," he used a finger to turn her face. "No, look at me, not your mother. Do you know what time it is?"

"No."

Normally, Sheldon would have realized the irony in that question, that Ada didn't know the time because they hadn't worked on reading clocks yet. He would have also instantly added it to his running mental lists of activities to be completed with her. But, tonight, he only straightened his back, not seeing the absurdity in this situation all.

"It is 8:37. And your bedtime is 8:00. Do you remember bedtime, when Mama read you a story and said goodnight?"

"Yes."

"Good. There is only one reason to get out of bed after bedtime, and that is if you have to go to the bathroom. That has been the rule as long as you've had your big girl bed. Do you understand me?"

Ada nodded, her face very serious. Sheldon heard Amy shift on the sofa behind him.

"Good. From now on, there is a new rule. The rule is that is you get out of bed for anything other than the bathroom, Daddy will spank you. Do you understand what that means?"

At the exact same time he heard Amy's strangled gasp behind him, Sheldon realized he had gone too far, that he had said the wrong thing. Apparently he was even angrier than he thought.

Ada's face transformed in front of him, something sparking and then dulling in her eyes, her mouth opening slightly. "Yes," she whispered, and she looked so very tiny, so much smaller than him, even when he knelt down, so much smaller than she looked when she entered the room.

"Good." He tried not choke over the word. Then he said, softly, "Go back to bed now."

Ada turned and ran back down the hallway. Sheldon also stood and turned, walking back to the sofa as slowly as he could, dreading the conversation - argument? - he was about to have. Amy's eyes were closed and he thought he could see her lips moving as she silently counted to ten.

She opened them when Sheldon sat down. "Sheldon, that was completely inappropriate! Why did you say that? Did you see her? You frightened her!"

"Maybe she needs to be frightened. That was the rule in my house growing up, and I don't remember ever being tempted to break it." It was probably the wrong approach to take, given how angry he could tell Amy was, but it was the truth. It was the explanation for why he'd said what he just said. Even if he knew it wasn't an excuse. There was no excuse.

"Sheldon Cooper! How dare you! You know we agreed on no corporal punishment! We compromised on an amalgamation of time outs and your strike system!" Amy jabbed her finger in the direction of his white board, a small corner of which had been devoted to Ada's strike chart.

"Well, it doesn't seem to be working, does it?" Sheldon shot back. "You'd probably let her sleep in our bed!"

Amy opened her mouth and shut it. Then she looked down suddenly. The looking down worried him more than anything else. Anger from Amy, he could take that, they could work through that. It was the unknown of her current thoughts that worried him.

"Amy?" Sheldon asked, his voice softening. "We talked about that, too. Putting her in our bed would only reward her for misbehavior. And we've always set very clear boundaries about our bedroom." He almost added they didn't want a repeat of that morning a few months ago, but he caught his words. Now probably wasn't the time.

"I know. And," she took a breath and looked back at him, "you're right. In the long run, we really don't want Ada sleeping in our bed. But we need to talk about this. You were not right to threaten to spank her."

He sighed. "No, I wasn't. I'm sorry." He lifted his glasses to rub his face. "Yes, we need to talk about this. I'm just frustrated. And exhausted of feeling confused. I am used to knowing the correct answer to any problem."

"I've been doing some reading. We're doing all the right things: we have an established but not overly lengthy bedtime ritual and we have a fixed bedtime. We already shut the door, we've done that for ages." Amy shook her head again, but Sheldon saw that this time it was filled with hopelessness, not anger.

Tonight was the worst; Book Club night of all nights! This was their most special evening. Book Club was such an important thing to them, it had carried them through so much, it was always there when they most needed it. It gave him, at least, a new way to explain himself to Amy, which he often used to struggle with, but now, with the help of these books he found easier. Literature, someone else's words, somehow it was often less painful to quote something than to form the words himself. Perhaps if Amy had instigated Book Club earlier in their relationship, it would not have been so long and arduous. Perhaps if someone had shown him all these written words before, how someone else, at some time, had understood his conflicting emotions and so perfectly described them, showing him what a joy giving one's self over to love could be, he would have - Wait, was this breaking his promise to Amy? Or was it still acceptable to have these regrets, as long as he did not verbalize them? Something to think about there. Regardless, it was the words and the books that had helped him, and thus them, through many a tribulation -

"Did you ever read in bed as a child?" Sheldon asked suddenly.

"All the time," Amy answered, wrinkling her brow.

"Me too. It was never said, but I think it was allowed. Or maybe ignored. As long as I was quiet and in bed, I could read as late as I wanted. Maybe that's the solution," Sheldon said.

"But Ada can't read. And -" Amy put her hand up to stop him "- you can't use this as an excuse to teach her. You promised me my little girl for five years."

"Wellll . . . . " Sheldon licked his lips. "She likes comic books, right, with lots of pictures? And she likes to emulate reading, correct? We see her do that a lot, sit with books and flip through them. So even if it's not technically reading, maybe she would like just having the books in bed with her?"

Screwing up her lips slightly, Sheldon watched Amy think. "Hmmmm . . . But what if she stays up too late and doesn't get the recommended ten hours of nightly sleep for her age?"

"Remember what you told me when she went through that brief phase in which she refused to eat?" Amy nodded her head. That been another trying yet self-contained time. A week in which Ada had tantrums, sobbing at the table, Sheldon convinced she was starving her growing brain, Amy sitting there placidly through it all, ignoring her. "You told me at the time to just ignore her, that toddlers did not yet have the mental processes to enable them to starve themselves, that if we did not capitulate to her demands for chicken nuggets, she would start eating again when her body recognized and acted on its own hunger and need for nourishment. And you were right!"

"Yes?"

"So maybe her body will know it needs sleep, anyway, especially if she stops fighting it? Maybe she'll flip through a book a little and just nod off to sleep?"

"I'm not . . . . hmmmmmmm," Amy sighed. "I'm not really sure there's any science to support that, Sheldon. However -" she put a finger up "- I am at my wit's end and I don't have a better idea. So," she shrugged, "let's try it. Provided, of course, that we explain to her that reading time will be taken away if she breaks the rules. That's a punishment for getting out of bed I can support."

Sheldon nodded and said, "Yes, let's try it."

Then he pulled her closer to him, one arm around her shoulders, and he reached up to touch her cheek with the other. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered, "Amy, will you be my accomplice? Even though it may involve temper tantrums and whatever else our little hellion brings our way?"

"She's not a hellion." But she chuckled.

"I wouldn't be so sure. She's got you for a mother."

"And to think I called you bioluminescent." Amy slid her arms around Sheldon's abdomen and leaned against his chest. A satisfied smile on his face at his partner in crime, he kissed the top of her head again.

* * *

Two weeks later . . .

Sheldon, although he would have scoffed at the word psychology, was more than proud of himself that perhaps he was master of child psychology after all. Of course he excelled at fathering, why had he ever doubted it? Amy would have said it was merely the schedule and the illusion of independence. Not that they debated the cause, flushed with the relief of success. The little, gentle lamp was clipped to Ada's headboard so she could turn it off herself, although, most nights, when one of them peeked in the room before going to bed, she had fallen asleep with it still on, a book still setting somewhere on her bed. Either Sheldon or Amy would quietly put the book away, cover their daughter, kiss her sleeping head, turn off the reading lamp, and return in peace and quiet to their prized adult time.

This night, Sheldon was just finishing the book. "'Julia Child died in 2004 at the age of 91. She wrote 10 cookbooks and one memoir about her life in France, and she taught and inspired millions of people to cook. Bon appétit!'"

"I like this book," Ada said, curled into the crook of Sheldon's arm.

"Good. You mother never ceases to remind me that the ability to cook is a necessary genderless skill that even I should apply myself to learning more about." He shut the book, and looked down at Ada's copper hair. It had grown so much in the past few months. "Do you want this book to read to yourself tonight?"

Ada nodded and pulled away. Sheldon got up and turned on her new reading light and turned off the brighter lamp on the end table. Passing her the book, he said, "Goodnight, Ada."

"I need Samantha," Ada said. Samantha was Amy's old Cabbage Patch Kid doll, that Cynthia had recently brought over for Ada. With her two brown pigtails and round, soft body she had quickly become Ada's favorite doll.

Sheldon frowned as he looked down at her. Things had been going so well! Why must she always push at the established boundaries? Just like her mother! "Ada, you do not need a doll. The rule is that you get to read silently to yourself. But no toys, you know that. And remember, reading like this is a privilege that can be taken away if you don't follow the rules."

"But we're going to have book club!"

Flinching, Sheldon said, "A what?"

"Like you and Mama." At some point in recent time, Ada had mastered the art of saying things as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.

"How is it a book club? What are the rules?" Sheldon asked.

"It's private. For me and Samantha." Again with the almost-bland obvious statement.

Licking his lips, Sheldon put a hand on his hip. This was not an ethical quandary he had anticipated with this new plan. If one of the goals of the plan was peace for Book Club, could he rightfully deny his daughter her own version of Book Club? "You do understand that Book Club only occurs every other month? Not daily?"

"Yes."

Sheldon sighed and reached over to pick Samantha up out of the rocking chair. As he passed her over, he said, "I will be listening. You know the caliber of my hearing."

Sitting the doll next to her, Ada opened the book. "Goodnight."

It seemed he had been dismissed. "Goodnight, Ada," he said, turning and shutting the door behind him. Then he rushed to tell Amy.


	87. Gratification

_**Thank you to Geeky Blue Strawberry for this topic suggestion.** _

* * *

**Gratification**

* * *

_A satisfied smile on his face at his partner in crime, he kissed the top of her head again._

* * *

This is what Sheldon knew:

That before he and Amy went on their first "date" (with Penny in tow - how odd in retrospect), Amy had already experienced 128 orgasms. That at least some of these orgasms were at the hands of some sort of electrical device stimulating the pleasure centers of her brain, not at the hands of, well, her own hands. He thought that two thirds was a reasonable estimate. That, based on the number of times Amy brought up some form of physical intimacy during their courtship, she had an active libido. That based on her helpful guidance once they were intimate, she was obviously a woman who knew her own body well. So maybe his previous estimate was incorrect. It could not be denied this knowledge was a good thing; her mastery and lack of prudery served them well, saving time and frustration. He shuddered to think that he could have been considered a fumbler. That, also since their marriage, he and Amy enjoyed what he considered a healthy sex life. At times, based on the comments from his friends, extremely healthy. Thus, in spite of her obvious prior practice of self-gratification, she had him now and surely that was gratifying enough.

This is what Sheldon did not know:

Amy's first lover was named Gerard. He was also slim and pale, but so pale he was a true white. And bright - dare she say, electric? - blue. He was a speedy and repetitive lover, even if he did have an annoying monotonous drone while he was pleasuring her. Before she met Sheldon, she only had eyes for Gerard. After a while, though, she wondered what it would be like if Sheldon were to touch her. She left Gerard in the drawer one night and imagined Sheldon's long fingers upon her, touching her swollen, slick secret. This Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover was slower but calmer and quieter. His eyes were a more beautiful shade of blue. When she climaxed, she imagined those eyes above her. Number 152 was the best yet. Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover started to visit more frequently, and he discovered subtleties and nuances to touch she did not previously know she enjoyed.

Then Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover gave way, miraculously, to Sheldon-Almost-Lover. She had never before been so slick, so swollen with desire. Always after an only-above-the-waist tumble on a Sleepover Night, he would leave her to take a shower. It didn't take long, lying in his rumbled bed, imagining him naked with water coursing down his lean body, and she bite into the pillow to keep from crying out. She wondered if he could smell it - in the air, on her fingers, in between the sheets - when he returned, usually freezing cold but sometimes his skin flushed and hot, but he never said anything. He gathered her up close, squeezing her tight, and they fell asleep. When she moved in, she threw Gerard away. Not only to avoid explaining his presence, but because she'd broken up with him a long time ago.

Real-Oh-My-God-He's-My-Husband-Sheldon-Lover was a quick learner. She passed on all the lessons Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover had taught her and he perfected them. Husband-Sheldon-Lover had all the devotion and eagerness of a convert to any new way of doing things, and if she was filled with desire, she could be almost certain he would be, too. Her hand was only ever used between them, to help him relax and enjoy. To find gratification together.

One night, finally rested, nervous but keen, she asked Father-Sheldon to return to his former title of Husband-Sheldon-Lover. She managed not to cry, probably only because she saw how small he made himself as he hugged his side of the bed afterward, and she knew his pride always took the greatest falls. The next morning, though, he left her for work, shy and distant, and she cried, rivets of silent tears through the mid-morning feeding. Something was broken, and she feared it was her.

Later that afternoon, Ada down for her nap, Amy took a deep breath and dug around in the bathroom cabinet for a hand mirror. This was not something she was going to let remain broken. She sat on her martial bed, and took her time, analyzing each sensation, determining what was different and what was the same. It was easier to imagine Lover-Sheldon now than it had been three years ago. And so, when she saw he wanted to try again, she shifted for him so his fingers would move and gently touched his hand when needed, and led him to the promised land once more.

Now, she had Sheldon, and he gave her all the gratification she needed. Unless he was out of town. Then she would close her eyes and smile softly and imagine him above her and reach down . . .

This is what Amy knew:

Nothing. She wondered, of course, all through their courtship and into their marriage, but the topic was clearly in that file in Sheldon's mind labeled Top Secret. She let him have it, so she wouldn't have to talk about Gerard.

This is what Amy did not know:

He had been a teenager once. Deanna Troi wore spandex the night she passed her bridge officer's exam. He tried to take a shower, to wash IT away, but IT wasn't going anywhere. It washed away in the morning, why wouldn't IT wash away now? His fingernails grabbed the avocado green titles in the shower, and when he climaxed it sounded more like a whimper of shame than anything else. He worked at this as hard as he worked at everything, and each set-back was a rush of pleasure coupled by the shame of defeat. He would be master of his domain. And, at last, somewhere along the way, he succeeded. There was set-back the night of their Dungeons and Dragons game, but that was the only single occurrence in a decade. Running the calculations in his head, he determined he had still succeeded: the whimper of defeat and the shame were still present.

Until, one night, Amy kissed him and touched his face, and asked him if he liked it. This time, though, his hands gripping the periodic table shower curtain, he cried out so strong and loud he feared Leonard and Penny could hear him across the hall. That feeling, that memory of her green eyes and shy smile, that appreciation that she'd left without acknowledging IT, even though he was certain IT could be seen from space, felt like . . . solving an equation.

However, it wasn't good to give into these impulses. He knew he wouldn't go blind, as his mother had forever warned George, but . . . Nope, even after he enjoyed an only-above-the-waist tumble with Amy, IT never being so large, he usually took an ice cold shower, as he had learned the exact level of pain that would make IT go away. Then he would run back to the bedroom, and pull her warm body closer as his teeth chattered, shocked to discover how strong the smell of sex was in his bed. How had he somehow missed that in the heat of the moment?

Sometimes, though, especially inflamed, he found himself standing in warm water, thinking of Amy's moans and her body bucking toward him and he imagined the smell when he returned to bed. He hid his face in the corner of the shower and gritted his teeth so she wouldn't hear him. Still he ran back to the bedroom, still he gathered her in close, to not give himself away.

Then IT had a purpose, the one IT was designed for, and cold showers where a thing of the past. Almost always, if he wanted Amy, she wanted him, too. Once or twice, when his face was buried between her thighs, when the taste and the sounds and the smell was almost unbearable, his hand had wandered down and brushed himself and he considered . . . no, he would save IT for Amy. To find gratification together.

After Ada was born, he struggled mightily, and not with IT. How could the greatest high in his life (holding his beautiful newborn daughter in the hospital) be followed so closely by the greatest low (actually considering walking out the door and leaving them)? Gradually, though, he found something approaching equilibrium, and he waited, patiently, for Amy to join him there. This equilibrium brought IT back. He waited not so patiently in the shower, biting her name off of his lips at the last second.

Then it was awful. It was followed by the whimper of shame. Something was broken, and he feared it was him, that all those weeks of waiting, of only having self-gratification had made him callous or selfish. As hard as he had once worked to keep IT at bay, he would now work to fix this. But Amy, wonderful, noble Amy, helped guide his hand once more, and it was not work after all.

Now, he had Amy, and she gave him all the gratification he needed. Unless one of them was out of town. He would try to wait for her return, and sometimes he would succeed, only to ravish her like the untrained virgin he had once been. But, sometimes, he would close his eyes and smile softly and imagine her above him and reach down . . .

* * *

The darkness, the breathing coming faster and closer to the surface, the sounds of their kissing, the tingle that spread through her body when Sheldon caressed her nipple with his thumb and then started to drift lower . . . A moan escaped Amy's lips when he made contact.

She rolled on her side and flung her leg over his hip, wanting his body to be tightly pressed to hers. She felt him pause as her own fingertips threaded their way down the trail of hair from his belly button.

"Amy?" he whispered, his palm stilled but remaining caught between her thighs.

"Let's do this tonight," she whispered back, wrapping her hand around him. "At the same time."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" he pulled his hand away.

"No -" she stroked him up, just once, and smiled as his little gasp "- it's just that we never have, really. We sort of skipped this."

"Because we were never overly hormonal teenagers who had not taken the proper contraceptive precautions. Or people that believe an imagery deity would think that ringing the doorbell was completely acceptable as long as you didn't open the door."

Stopping, Amy bent her head back to look him straight in the eye. "Do you not want to? It might be fun."

Sheldon studied her for a moment and she saw the slightest tilt of his head. "You know we'll have to shower afterwards, it will be everywhere."

"We'll take one together," Amy purred.

"Very well," Sheldon whispered, leaning down to kiss her. "Now, where were we?"

"Like this," Amy stroked him again as Sheldon found her once more, and they quickly settled into a rhythm, their bodies flexing towards the other's hand, like dancing, like breathing, like loving, finding gratification together.

* * *

**_When Geeky first suggested this topic to me, my initial reaction was a resounding no. I didn't think it fit my style, I thought it would be too explicit, and my stories are about Sheldon and Amy loving each other. But the more I thought about it, I decided it was a challenge, a chance to try something new, an opportunity to mold it to my style, not the other way around. Not to mention the more philosophical conversation about whether knowing oneself well is essential to loving another well. Was I successful? That's for you to judge. Thank you, as always, for your reviews!_ **


	88. The History of Love

**_Thank you to notchincorporated (and, unbeknownst to her, Ms. Bialik herself) for this book suggestion! And thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2021**

**Primary Topic: _The History of Love_ by Nicole Krauss**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _One Day_  by David Nicholls,  _Two Across_ by Jeff Bartsch**

* * *

"Ada, come back here! You don't have your cover-up on yet!" Amy called from the bedroom doorway, watching the back of her swimsuit clad daughter disappear, her sandals slapping the floor.

"Daddy, are you coming?" she heard her ask. Shaking her head, Amy picked up the brand new cover-up off the bed, something practical and warm that was made of terry cloth like a towel, and took off after her.

"Coming where?" she heard Sheldon ask.

"Swimming!"

"No. I dislike the humidity and chlorine smell of an indoor pool," Sheldon explained. Amy saw him standing near the island, looking down at Ada.

"Also," Amy said as she approached them, "your father finds the idea of public pools disgusting. Besides, Ada," she bent down to help Ada put on and zip up her cover-up, "it's a Mommy and Me class, remember? No boys allowed. And Aunt Bernadette will be there with Lucy. That will be fun."

Ada shook her head. "I don't like Lucy."

"Ada!" Amy and Sheldon said in unison. Then Amy added, "That's not nice. Besides you play together all the time at Aunt Penny's. And other places, too."

"I play with Jacob. Lucy is a baby! She can't even talk!"

Amy looked up at Sheldon as she stood, seeking his eyes. He shrugged. Okay, yes, she was forced to admit, Ada  _was_  correct. Jacob, despite his almost two years on her, was very much Ada'a playmate. Fenny and Lucy and certainly little Frannie were often ignored by the two of them. She stood and looked down at Ada. "Lucy is a year younger than you. That's a lot time at your age -"

"She's one year and three months younger than you. Only sixty-two percent of your total life span, thirty-eight percent younger," Sheldon added.

"Yes, thank you, Sheldon, that's very helpful." Amy's eye's flicked back to him and he shrugged again. "And one third is a lot -"

"No, not one third, thirty -"

"Not now," Amy hissed through closed teeth. "Ada, you need to be nice to her and set a good example." She sighed. "And she can talk, and you know it. She just doesn't say as much as you and Jacob do."

"Ada," Sheldon said, crouching down. She came to him and he brushed a strand of hair that had already come out of her braid away from her face. "I understand your struggle. It's very difficult to be interested in the presence of those -"

"Sheldon!" Amy whispered yelled, putting her hand out to stop him.

"- younger than us -" He looked up at Amy and she let out the breath she was holding in almost-relief. "- but it's a trait of a true  _homo novus_. I think you're kind enough to do this, don't you?"

"Yes," Ada nodded solemnly as she often did at the end of one Sheldon's little speeches to her.

"Good." Sheldon stood. "Go get another barrette for your mother."

As Ada scampered off toward her bedroom, Amy turned and said, "Sheldon, I don't need a barrette."

"I just wanted to give you one last chance to back out."

"No." Amy shook her head.

"Cesspool of germs? Urine and goodness knows what else in the water from a collection of not fully toilet trained humans?"

"No."

"Putting our heir's life in danger of drowning?"

"No."

"Bernadette yelling?"

Amy fought off cracking a smile. "No." Then she frowned, "And, while I appreciate your stressing the important of kindness to Ada, I think you need to watch your word choice."

"I didn't say less intelligent!" he protested.

"Yes, but you were about to, weren't you?"

Sheldon sighed and grumbled something under his breath just as Ada returned, holding the barrette up like a prize. "Got it!"

"Good job!" Amy took it and clipped it along her hair line where she herself almost always wore one, smoothing those few loose hairs into it. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Ada's hair was barely long enough to plait into a short, stubby braid, and pieces were certain to come loose.

She looked over at Sheldon, his arms crossed, and she saw him chewing on his lip. Reaching out for his hand, Amy whispered, "We'll be safe. I promise." Then she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Is Rajesh coming up?"

Nodding, Sheldon said, "We're going to play video games."

"Have fun." Amy smiled at him before reaching for the bag she'd packed with towels and anything else she could think of they might need. "Come on Ada, let's go. Your first swim class!"

"Yeah!" Ada ran to open the door and Amy raced behind, turning to give Sheldon a quick wave.

* * *

"Sheldon, I did something today that you won't be pleased about." Two weeks earlier, Amy had pulled back the blankets on her side of the bed and got in while she announced this to her husband.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sheldon lower his comic book. "What?"

"Nothing horrible." Amy reached for the lotion she brought with her and squeezed some into her palm. "I signed Ada up for swimming lessons."

"Uh -"

"It's a Mommy and Me female-only class on campus. It's actually the last year she's eligible for Mommy and Me. I know you can't swim, but I consider swimming a necessary life skill -"

"But I can swim!"

Amy continued with her planned list of reasons as though she hadn't heard him, not even looking at him as she spread the lotion on her legs. "- that I consider essential. It's important to introduce her to new types of physical activity. Even though the studies into gender segregated education are inconclusive, I feel she should be exposed to it because she receives coeducation during the day. Bernadette is thinking about doing it with Lucy, and I think it would be good to encourage Ada to bond with the other children in our social circle other than just Jacob all the time. Additionally, I love to swim and have missed it. It would be good for me to get some exercise for weight management and general health purposes. And my mother taught me to swim, so it seems like I should be teaching Ada."

"Well, you've just thought of everything, haven't you?" Sheldon asked, rotating to put the comic book on his bedside table.

"I believe so. I also know what your objections will be. My responses are that the chlorine in the water will kill any of the germs you're concerned about. It is important to establish to Ada the need for physical activity as that is essential for her future health. Do I need to go on?"

"But shouldn't we have talked about this first?" Sheldon asked.

"Would you have agreed?"

Sheldon looked down at the comforter covering his lap and mumbled, "Probably not immediately."

"Because you cannot swim?"

"Again, I can swim!" Sheldon protested.

"No, you can't. Watching a YouTube video years ago and practicing on the solid, non-liquid floor your old apartment is not learning to swim," Amy said.

"I'm not going to regal you with any more stories of my swinging single days if you're going to mock them all," Sheldon grumbled. Amy curled her lips in, biting them to keep from smiling. His voice went back up. "And really, my way of learning is safer. I've never been at risk of drowning! Besides, physical exercise is overrated."

Amy finally put the lotion down and turned to him. "Sheldon, if you're upset we didn't discuss it first, I accept that. Or if you think it's hypocritical of me to make this decision without you, I agree. I am aware that is not the communication pattern I have have proposed and strenuously enforced for us. But," she sighed deeply, "honestly, I'm doing this for myself, too. As I said, I need some exercise." She looked away and tried to avoid noticing the presence of rolls of fat under her nightgown.

"Not for me, you don't," Sheldon said softly. Then he added, "Are you sure it's safe? You two are all I have . . ."

* * *

Swim class was a success. Shy about removing her own cover-up, Amy quickly realized that time, pregnancy, and breast feeding had despoiled everyone's bodies in the room and that no one else seemed to care. Before class started, she left Ada with Bernadette for a few minutes as she jumped into the deep end and got back into the rhythm of swimming. She really did miss it. It probably wasn't possible to ever talk Sheldon into a day at the beach, with the risk of sharks and riptides coming to steal his offspring away, so this would just have to do.

One thing Amy was grateful that Ada had not inherited from Sheldon was his aversion to new experiences. Amy put her arms up and Ada jumped into them with a splash, although she did yelp, "It's cold!" After she was reassured it would warm up, she relaxed her grip about Amy's body, and, by the time class was over, she was grinning and skipping.

"Daddy! Dad!" she was yelling, even before the door was fully open.

"Dad?" Sheldon asked, getting up from the sofa and coming to meet them as they entered, his eyebrows high. He glanced up at Amy and she shrugged, put her keys in the bowl, and sat the swim bag down.

"Dad, it was so much fun! It's hot in the room at first and cold in the water but later it's the other way around and there's these boards things and you hold on to them and your legs float and it burns when the water goes up your noise and it was so much fun!"

"Even with the water goes up your nose and burns?" Sheldon asked. "That doesn't sound like much fun. That never happens on the floor."

"Oh, Dad! Mama says it's part of the process!" She put her little hands on her hips.

"Yes, your mother know all about processes, doesn't she?" But he looked up at Amy as he said it and smiled. "She knows all about jumping into the deep end and pulling other people in with her."

Amy had been walking toward them and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "You love that about me," she whispered. Then she looked down and said, "Come on, Ada, we have to wash the chlorine out of your hair and it's after your regular bath time, anyway."

"But I want -"

"Ada," Sheldon said firmly.

"Yes, Dad," she mumbled, allowing Amy to take her hand.

"Dad," Amy heard him barely whisper as she led Ada toward the bathroom.

* * *

Amy had thought Ada would complain about going straight to bed after her bath, but the excitement and physical activity apparently had done the trick, and she was amenable to being warmly covered in a flannel nightgown and tucked under the blankets. She was sound asleep before the book was half-way finished.

When Amy went back to the great room, Sheldon looked up, surprised. "I thought you'd want to change." Then, louder, "Siri, stop playback and turn off." The television screen went dark.

Without meaning to, Amy yawned. "I had forgotten how tiring swimming could be. I think I'd like a hot shower and an early bed time myself." She sat down on the sofa next to him. "Don't worry, my clothes are dry by now. And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Because it's Book Club Night, and, well, we usually . . . " she let her voice trail.

Sheldon shrugged. "It was never a requirement."

"I know." Then Amy smiled. "But Book Club is a requirement, so I came out here to have it."

"Are you sure? If you're too tired -"

"Where's my schedule-loving Sheldon who wouldn't dream of postponing Book Club?" Amy asked.

"It's a topsy-turvy world." Amy had thought it was joke and started to smile, until he frowned and added, "Apparently, I'm Dad now. Just Dad."

Amy reached over and took his hand. "She's finding her independence, Sheldon. You should have seen her tonight, so fearless and brave. It's part of growing up. She finds the independence and maturity to tell us she loves us without prompting, but she also finds she wants to call us Dad and Mom."

Sheldon grunted. "But she still calls you Mama."

"I'm sure that Mom is not far behind now." She leaned back into the sofa. "Watching your child grow is a double-edged sword sometimes. But I was so proud of her tonight."

Sheldon nodded. "I have a feeling she likes the deep end. That she very clearly got from you."

"You love that about me," Amy said for the second time that evening.

She heard Sheldon give his little grunt of amusement. "Maybe."

They sat for a moment, holding hands, not speaking, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Amy was thinking about genetics, how parts of Ada were so clearly Sheldon and parts were so clearly her and yet there were still surprises, things about their daughter that were starting to appear as uniquely and wholly her own.

"You've been full of surprises lately," Amy said suddenly. "Like your Book Club selection."

"I should think the evolution of this choice is perfectly obvious."

"It is?" Amy turned to look at him, and he was already looking at her.

"I picked  _One Day_ , and you were excited when you thought I picked it for its romantic qualities. Then you admitted that you picked  _Two Across_  because it was a romance. Clearly, a challenge had been issued." Amy started to smile. "So, I went searching for a book that was all about romance. _The History of Love_? The title screams that it's a definitive romance textbook."

Warmed by this effort of his, Amy said, "I wasn't issuing a challenge. Honestly."

Sheldon titled his head to the side. "I'm not so sure . . . Although, now that I've read  _The History of Love_ , I can say that perhaps it's better if you weren't. Because I'm not sure this book is as romantic as the title implies."

Amy raised her eyebrows and turned her entire body closer to him, dropping his hand in the process. "I thought it was romantic."

"Of course you would." Sheldon paused. "I do concede that the novel within the novel - it's confusing to talk about as they have the same title - could perhaps be considered romantic. Even the promised romantic textbook."

"But the whole book is romantic. It's about falling in love, having one true love your entire life, never loving another despite time, writing about that love," Amy said.

"But it's about losing your love unfairly, too soon, leaving you," Sheldon said.

"Yes, because of circumstances beyond her control." Amy paused and twisted her lips, unsure how to explain it. "I agree that were many parts of this book that were not traditionally romantic. The parts that were written from Bird's point of view, for example, they weren't romantic at all; I don't think they were meant to be. And there are several lover's partings here - people die far too soon in this book - which are sad. But it's about love beyond death, love that never dies, love that carries you . . . forever, wherever you go."

"Well," Sheldon looked away from her, "there's nothing I can say in response to that that won't sound callous and unfeeling."

Amy reached for his hand once more. "It's okay if you didn't like it, Sheldon. Maybe it was just too sentimental for you."

His beautiful eyes turned back to her. "I liked it." He took a deep breath. "But I don't like that I can't explain it. I mean, in terms of plot, I can explain it. Leo wrote a book to his great love Alma and thought he lost it in World War II. A friend who thought he was dead changed all the names but hers and published it. A girl is named Alma after every girl in the book, and she figures it all out. But what does it all mean?"

Shrugging, Amy said, "It means that love is timeless. The book within the book, is about the history of love, correct? Through the Age of Silence, The Age of Glass, The Age of String . . . Through them all, Alma is there." Amy took a deep breath. "I thought Alma wasn't just a person - or even the second person, the young girl - I thought that Alma was the personification of love. That's why the old Alma dies while the new Alma grows up: love remains, love is passed on, true love always exists."

"When did Book Club become so deep and complex?" Sheldon asked.

"I like to think it always has been," Amy said, squeezing his hand. "I just think this novel is not as neat of a package, not as obvious as some other books. To me, that's always a good thing in a book."

Sheldon smiled at her. "You're probably correct."

"Always."

The smile spread further. Then he asked, "What did you think of Zvi Litvinoff? I couldn't decide if he was stealing the book or not."

Taking her hand from his, Amy reached up to brush her hair, which was becoming stiff as it dried. She really needed to wash it soon. "As with a lot in this book, I couldn't decide. He genuinely thought his friend was dead, his wife made sure of that, which wasn't his fault. And he did put the obituary in the book as the last chapter, which he thought would tell people the truth, but it seems that no one understood that."

Sheldon nodded but didn't speak. They sat for a moment in silence, Amy wondering what he was thinking. She loved this book - the passages from the novel within the novel were stunning and heartbreaking - but she found it hard to discuss, let alone explain. It was the type of book that one felt very deeply, but a book that defied words. Which was ironic, of course, as it was composed of words, with almost all of the characters being writers of one sort or another. It was especially ironic as the second book Leo wrote, the one the reader is not privileged to read a single sentence of, was entitled  _Words for Everything_. Or maybe she did get to read it, it was hard to be sure. "'When will you learn that there isn't a word for everything?'" Amy murmured.

"Hmmm?" Sheldon asked.

She shook her head. "Remember the second book Leo writes, the one he sends to his son at the very beginning,  _Words for Everything_?" Sheldon nodded. "Do you think that section before that was the book? On one hand, it couldn't have been, because it was only a couple of pages long. But on the other . . ." She shrugged again.

"'It's also true that sometimes people felt things and, because there was no word for them, they went unmentioned. The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it - just to name it - must have like trying to catch something invisible,'" Sheldon quoted.

Amy felt her heart surge again, and she felt a feeling that she often had around Sheldon for which there were no words. I love you, although she still said it and meant every syllable of it, had long ago ceased to be enough. "Next time, shall I pick something obvious?"

Sheldon smiled softly. "I didn't mind. I said I liked it."

"But it's almost impossible to discuss. Book Club is for discussion," Amy said. "This hasn't been very lengthy."

Shrugging, Sheldon said, "Maybe, maybe not."

The surge once more. "I'm going to go shower and wash my hair. Unless you have something more to add."

"No, go," he said gently, and Amy knew there were so many more things to add.


	89. The Swimsuit

**The Swimsuit**

* * *

_"'It's also true that sometimes people felt things and, because there was no word for them, they went unmentioned. The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it - just to name it - must have like trying to catch something invisible,'" Sheldon quoted_.

* * *

No sooner had Amy left the room then Sheldon remembered something he wanted to ask her opinion of about the book. It had been such a stilted Book Club, he thought, short and not especially deep - or maybe too deep, that was odd - and he felt a little guilty about it. Yes, the timing was bad with the swim lesson tonight, but it really was the book. He had thoroughly enjoyed the book, he thought the author had found just the perfect way to phrase some obscure ideas and emotions, and yet . . . he had found himself incapable of that same act, of describing why it was so good. At least Amy, too, seemed to be having difficulties. Or maybe she was just tired.

He went to the bedroom, expecting to find her in the closet, removing her swimming clothes, but she wasn't here. The bathroom door was open, so he stepped inside.

"Oh!" Amy yelped, turning quickly and covering her body with her hands. "Sheldon!"

He took a step back, into the door frame, surprised at her reaction. "I'm sorry I frightened you." She still had her arms wrapped protectively around her body, her back toward him. Her swimsuit was one of those old-fashioned dress types. "The door was open. Amy? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just - I should have shut the door."

"Oh, I understand. I'll leave you to use the restroom." He turned to leave.

"No." He turned back to her voice. "I'm sorry. I already went. I guess I just . . . for a second, before I thought about, I didn't want you to see me in my swimsuit." She turned then, to face him, finally putting her arms down at her side.

Sheldon looked her up and down and then said, "Why ever not? I see you in less clothing all the time. I don't understand."

"It was nothing, just a reflex, I guess." Her eyes shifted away from him.

"Since when is it a reflex to hide your body from me?" he asked softly, feeling that this was a very delicate moment even though he couldn't explain why that was so.

"It's not, Sheldon, I promise. I love the way you look at me. But - I don't know. Because I'm a middle-aged woman and it's a swimsuit, and that combination does something to the synapsis in a woman's brain, I guess." She shrugged. "Even the most beautiful woman, I'm sure, feels fat and ugly in a swimsuit. I've even heard Penny talk about how much she dreads putting one on, and look how beautiful she is."

Furrowing his brow and frowning, as he always did whenever Amy compared herself to Penny, Sheldon walked closer and took her hands. "I think you look beautiful." He glanced down again. "I like how short it is, I can see your legs." Amy smiled at that, so he continued, "And, if I slide my hand in under here, I can feel your - where's the bottom?"

"It's a two-piece, Sheldon, so you can take the bottom off to use the bathroom. It's called a dresskini. They still make you feel fat and ugly, but swimsuits are much easier to wear these days."

Sheldon cupped her naked bottom under the cute little swimsuit and pulled her in closer, against his chest. "No more with the fat and ugly. You are neither of those those things."

"The BMI chart disagrees with you," she said, and he heard the defeat in her voice.

"Well, then, the BMI chart is wrong," he said. "And you know how much I mean that, because I just disagreed with a numerical computation expressed on a graft." He heard her smile and he kissed the top of her head. "Listen, Amy, if you want to loose weight for yourself or because you think it will make you healthier, I promise to be supportive. Or if you want to start swimming again because you enjoy it and it relieves stress, then do it. But please don't do it for me. You are the most beautiful when you are the most confident. I don't like it when you doubt yourself without reason. Most importantly, the BMI chart doesn't love you the way I do."

As always, when he allowed himself to express his hippy-dippy side ( _all Amy's fault!_ ) there was a fraught nanosecond when he worried if it was the right thing to have said. But then Amy murmured "Oh, Sheldon" and he smiled at his success.

"How about a hot bubble bath? You love those," Sheldon said, pushing her away slightly so he could look at her face.

"Mmmm, I need to wash my hair."

"Do it in the bath, with the sprayer. It will be more relaxing than a shower." She didn't reply right away, her lips twisting. "Come on, I'll get in with you." Without waiting for a reply, because he knew she'd say yes to that suggestion, considering how often she proposed it herself even though he always refused, he let go of her and reached over to start the taps.

In short order, Amy was in the bathtub, pouring shampoo on her hand, and Sheldon was joining her. He still would have said he found the idea of sitting in a cesspool of one's own germs disgusting, but the addition of a hose off at the end at least helped him endure it for Amy. Once he'd slipped in to the hot water behind her, he reached up to assist her with the scrubbing of her hair.

"So, you had fun? And Ada?" he asked.

"Yes. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed swimming, really. And Ada seemed quite taken with it. Several of the other children were terrified and crying, but not Ada," Amy said.

Sheldon picked up the sprayer to rinse her hair for her. "How was she with Lucy?"

Amy's shoulders shrugged in front of him. "Fine. Perhaps we were too harsh on her earlier. Of course I want her to be kind to others, but Lucy really is just too immature for her at this age. But I do wish she had a little girlfriend her age, instead of just Jacob. He's going to kindergarten in the autumn, and he's bound to make new friends there and leave poor Ada behind."

Turning off the sprayer, Sheldon turned on the jets to the tub. "Jacob isn't her age."

"You know what I mean," Amy said, leaning back into his chest. Surprised, Sheldon leaned against the edge of the tub, shifting his legs to made more room for her.

"Who's that little girl in her class she's often playing with when we arrive in the evenings to pick her up? Remy? That's a friend her age. If not equal to her level of intelligence."

Making that little noise that he knew well, a mixture of displeasure and, he thought, denial, Amy said, "I'm going to ignore the last comment because the first one is so good. Yes, we should arrange a playdate with Remy. They can dress up and play with their dolls and have a tea party. Ada loves all that girly stuff, for better or worse; I've heard her try to coerce Jacob into tea parties before."

"Remind me to be absent then," Sheldon mumbled.

Amy elbowed him softly in the stomach. Then she exhaled. "This is lovely, Sheldon. You're just full of good ideas tonight."

"I always am."

Another smile from Amy and she squeezed his thigh, before she settled in deeper to his chest. He looked at her face from above, her dark, wet hair pulled back, her dark eyebrows and eye lashes, her prominent nose, those lips. He sighed and tilted his own head back. Perhaps endure had been the wrong word altogether. Actually, this  _was_ lovely. Inadvertently, he had aligned the small of his back to one of the jets, and, of course, there was the pleasure of Amy's warm body in front of him.

His plan, formed rapidly in the second she confessed her embarrassment to him, had been to pleasure her in the bath and then dry her off and make love to her. However, he found that the idea no longer held it's power to him. Not that he didn't want to be making love to Amy anymore, of course not. If she made just the right move, he was certain his body and his mind would gladly respond to her. But there was something comforting about just lying in the hot, bubbly water with her, relaxing and not even speaking now.

He wondered if he should confess to Amy that he'd added sit-ups and crunches to his afternoon Hacky Sack routine, a divulgement of solidarity to her that he, too, had noticed his own mid-section getting softer recently. New moles were popping up. Not to mention he was lying wet and naked with Amy leaning against him, actually thinking about sex with her, and yet he wasn't erect. Most disturbingly, he'd had to get up and urinate in the middle of the night last week. He had searched his brain for any extra water consumption or the possible presence of hidden caffeine in something he ingested, but he had come up clueless. Between all that and the addition of his glasses, he felt like his body was going to hell in a hand basket. True, he'd taken to using the hand mirror in the bathroom every Monday evening to confirm that he had all his hair and there with no dime-sized thin patches at the back of his scalp as was rapidly becoming apparent on Howard's. And he was still wearing the same size pants, even though he was certain Raj wasn't anymore. Even though Leonard was teased that it was the plethora of procreation he was engaged in that caused the hairs on his ears that he complained about, Sheldon had taken to checking that weekly, too.

And, even though he'd meant every word of his love and appreciation for Amy's body, there was no denying that had changed, also. Not just the gradual increase in weight since Ada was born. Sheldon had discovered, several months ago, that she was plucking out long gray strands of hair, when he puzzled over the accidental discovery of them in the bathroom trashcan. Occasionally, he heard a joint pop when she got down on the floor with Ada. That line that used to only arrive between her brows when she was confused or angry or frustrated was starting to form a hint of permanence. Perhaps, that, though, was his fault, not the ravages of the time.

His fortieth and recent forty-first birthdays had passed with minimal fuss, as his birthdays usually did, but he knew that his lack of enthusiasm on the topic was even greater than normal. Even Amy, who despite her pretending otherwise, actually enjoyed a bit of a fuss made over her on the day in question, had yet to say a peep about her impending fortieth birthday. Maybe that was a mark of old age, the gentle acquiescence to time that snuck up on one; gone were the days of thrilling birthday parties like Ada enjoyed but not yet to the stage of actually forgetting how old one was. Time was ever marching on, and the only thing to do was to quietly accept its power over you and move along with it. It sure beat the alternative.

"We're getting old," he thought and then realized he'd actually whispered it.

"Is that what you're thinking about?" Amy asked.

"Yes," Sheldon confessed, knowing there was no use lying to her.

There was soft chuckle, and Amy said, "I was just thinking that since you've now willingly taken two baths with me, there has to be a way I can convince you to go swimming on the beach some Sunday. I'd like to take Ada."

"Don't push your luck. There isn't a hand sprayer strong enough in this world to wash the ocean off."

Amy laughed. "But the combination of sand and salt water will exfoliate your skin, keeping you young forever!" She tilted her head far back, to look up at him, and he smiled down into her grinning eyes, wrapping his arm around her waist under the water.

"Oh, Amy . . ." he kissed her forehead with a little sigh. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked, the grin falling away.

"I had a plan for this bath. I had intended to show you how much I loved your body but -"

"Shhhhh," Amy soothed, tipping her head forward again and settling back into his chest. She reached down in the water and put her hands over his. "I know."

"But -"

"Shh, Sheldon. I already know. Let's enjoy the quiet."

His eyebrows went up for a moment and then he relaxed, holding Amy in silence. Flexing his fingers up, he hoped she would understand his invitation to weave her own through them. She did. He smiled and tilted his head against the ledge of the bathtub. No, they didn't need the words.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	90. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2021**

**Primary Topic: _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll**

* * *

"103.1! No wonder you're shivering so badly!" Amy frowned at the thermometer and looked down at him from where she sat on the edge of their bed. "I can't believe you didn't call me when you started feeling badly. That's not like you. I would have brought you home."

Sheldon clutched the blankets tighter and silently prayed that the Tylenol would take affect shortly. "No, I couldn't. I've known for weeks what an important day this was for you. This is your first study with human subjects, and the testing started today."

Amy's frown deepened. "My family is more important than my work, Sheldon. If I had to leave, I would have left. I have lab assistants for a reason. Or at least you should have asked one of the guys."

His mind feeling fuzzy and heavy, he just shook his head. His wife's face softened. "Well, you're home and in bed now, that's the important thing. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll check on you later and bring you some chicken noodle soup."

"But it's Book Club Night!" Sheldon croaked.

A soft smile from Amy. "You're far too ill for Book Club Night. We'll talk about it when you feel better."

"But . . ." he started weakly.

"No buts, Sheldon. You need to sleep. And I need to go take care of Ada."

He wanted to argue, but he didn't have the strength. All of his joints were sore, his head was throbbing, his throat was raw. "Soft Kitty?" he managed to whisper.

Amy stood and spread another blanket over him and sang, "Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Soft kitty, warm kitty . . ."

He was asleep.

* * *

_I already feel so much better._ Sheldon opened his eyes and took a sharp breath. Everything was there, exactly where he'd left it, but for some reason it wasn't where he thought he should be. He sat up slowly. There were his baskets of comic books, the rocket ship model next to his bed, all of his posters. He shook his head slightly, battling with an odd feeling that he had just had a very vivid, very important dream but now he was only grasping at vapors.

There was knock at the door, and Leonard opened it. "Hey, buddy. You're awake!"

"Obviously," he replied. He felt a vapor. "But I . . . took a nap?"

"Obviously." Leonard rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised, since you sat up all night working on the equations for the equatorial mount for the laser for our lunar ranging tomorrow."

Sheldon felt his forehead. Something was off, something vague that couldn't be determined.

"Are you okay, buddy?" Leonard asked.

"Yes. I . . . I thought maybe I had a fever, but I guess not." He rolled his shoulders and swallowed hard on purpose. Yes, he felt excellent. It was almost like something had changed during his nap. He tried to think. Was he the same as when he got up that morning? If he concentrated, he thought he could almost remember -

"Okay. Well then, hurry up, we're going to be late." Leonard voice's burst the thought back into the little shards he was trying to piece together.

"Late?"

"To Kripke's party."

Even though he nodded his head at the memory of the invitation, Sheldon felt another vapor. "Why am I going again? Why aren't you going with Penny?"

"I can't believe you'd ask that! You know we broke up!" Leonard turned and walked out of the room.

Sheldon got up and followed his roommate to the living room, where Leonard stood at his desk putting on his jacket. He suddenly remembered a phrase from a conversation he didn't recall having until just now. "I'm sorry. That was not wingman appropriate behavior."

Leonard turned to him. "Did you just apologize and use the word wingman in the correct context? Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?"

Sheldon frowned. "You explained to me that you wanted me to go this party with you as your wingman, that it was one of my obligations as your roommate and best friend to help you get over Penny." He picked up his own jacket from the back of his desk chair and put it on.

"Listen, Sheldon," Leonard sighed, "I do appreciate you're making the effort, but you don't have to go to Kripke's party. Howard and Raj are meeting me there. And it's not like you're interested in meeting the new girls, even if they are scientists."

Another vapor of his dream. He looked up at his friend quickly. "Female scientists?"

Leonard's brow furrowed deeply. "Maybe you do have a fever."

"Why do you say that?"

Leonard shrugged. "You almost sounded interested there for a second. But you knew the whole point of this party is to meet the four new female faculty members. So many new woman at one time! It's like Christmas at Caltech!"

"What departments?" He didn't even know why he asked that.

"I think one is in geology and another in meteorology and maybe chemistry and . . . hmmm, I don't remember. Does it matter to you, anyway?"

"Neurobiology?" Sheldon asked, putting his bag over his shoulder.

"Uh, maybe. Let's go and find out." Leonard led the way out the door. "Are you going to be weird and interested in girls all night? Because I don't think the world is ready for Sheldon Cooper in love," he asked as he locked the door.

Sheldon snorted. "Please. I am not interested in girls. I am a genius-level island unto myself. Sheldon Cooper does not fall in love. Not even if there is a neurobiologist there."

Leonard gave him another strange look. "Like that, for example. Since when do you like neurobiology so much?"

Leaving 4A behind them, walking down the flights of stairs, Sheldon didn't answer. Why did he feel so weird after his nap? And why  _was_  he so interested in neurobiology?

* * *

It was worse than he imagined. Too many people, too much noise, and Kripke's apartment smelled funny. He did a quick calculation. There was a six to one ratio of males to females. Not that it mattered to him. He most certainly was not interested in any of the females, scientists or not. Sheldon sat down in a chair in the quietest corner of the room, which wasn't really quiet at all. His ennui relieved him. He had felt so strange at the apartment, after his nap, and he was glad whatever that was was fading. Ennui he knew well, interest in neurobiologists, not so much.  _Neurobiology! As if!_

Why did Kripke live so far from a bus stop? He just wanted to leave. This was the silliest party he had ever been to, and he was never going back to one again. He should have never let Leonard talk him into this. And now Leonard was ignoring him, hanging out with Howard and Raj, pathetically searching the room for someone of the opposite sex to make eye contact with them. Like one of these females would want to have coitus with one of those sub-genius men! The disgusting thought of coitus made him shiver, and he reached into his bag for his bottle of Purell. _If only I could sanitize my mind!_

Sheldon frowned and pulled an unexpected object out of his bag. A book. He looked at the cover.  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland._ Strange. He didn't remember putting this book in there, let alone owning it. A vapor wiped across his mind.  _Not again!_ He shook his head and put the book back in his bag.  _What is wrong with me tonight?_  His stomach growled. _Oh! I didn't eat dinner. I fell asleep instead. That must be it!_

He got up and went to the table with food and drinks but almost stumbled at the last minute. On the left side of table, above the platters of Subway sandwiches and bowels of potato chips, was a sign. "Eat me." And, there, on the other side, above the cooler of sodas and beer: "Drink me."

_It's just a coincidence. It's just a coincidence. It's just a coincidence._ But the feeling wouldn't leave him now, stronger than a vapor. _I must be coming down with something after all. I need to go home._

Turning away from the food, he made his way across the crowded room to where he had last seen Leonard. Once again, his legs almost faltered when he was feet away from his goal. Dark, straight hair. A striped cardigan. A skirt and dark tights. He could almost feel the wind slap his face. He stepped closer.

"Hey, Sheldon, you were right! Come meet Caltech's newest neurobiologist, straight from UCLA," Leonard called.

She turned, and Sheldon gasped. Although he couldn't explain it, he knew her hair was too black, her eyes were too brown. "It's not you!"

The woman's brown eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You'll have to do that a lot. He needs all the excuses you can give him," Howard said. "Dr. Lillian Chang, meet Dr. Sheldon Cooper. Caltech's most annoying theoretical physicist."

Dr. Chang was looking him up and down, and, although he wasn't good at reading facial expressions, Sheldon could tell she was offended.

"I'm - I'm sorry. I just thought -" He paused. What had he thought? "I thought you were someone else . . . " he finished in a mumble.  _Yes, that's it. That's what I thought. But who?_  He touched his forehead again and was distressed to find no hint of a fever. He had never longed for a fever before, but he needed something, anything, to explain what was happening to him.

Dr. Chang interrupted his thoughts. "Maybe you're looking for my colleague. Well, my former colleague. I don't know where she went." She paused and turned slightly to include them all. "I only brought her along because I owed her a favor and she insisted. Something about her mother and a George Foreman grill." Her eyes went back to Sheldon's face. "She's weird enough someone like you just might know her." Laughter from his three friends. For once, Sheldon ignored it. "Oh, look! She's over there, reading! I can't believe it! She begs me to bring her to a party and then she sits alone in the corner reading." Dr. Chang rolled her eyes. "Her name is Amy Fowler. Do you know her?"

"Amy Fowler . . ." Sheldon repeated slowly. No, he'd never heard that name before. And yet there was something there . . . This whole evening just get kept getting curiouser and curiouser.

"Oh, excuse me, it's Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler. Always goes by her full name. If you go talk to her, you'd better use it."

With that, Dr. Chang turned back to Sheldon's friends and shut him out of the conversation. Sheldon sniffed.  _How rude! If this is the personality of the new faculty members at Caltech, I have no use for any of them!_ More than a little lost, he stood for a moment in uncertainty. He really wasn't the go-chatting-up-a-stranger-at-a-party type, but he couldn't stop rolling the words around on his tongue, enjoying the way he imagined them tripping off quickly and smoothly. Efficiently. And he did admire efficiency.  _Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler,_ _Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler,_ _Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler,_ they pattered.

Sighing, he turned and scanned the room, quickly locating a female sitting on the sofa, her face obscured by the mud-colored hair that fell around it. That hair: the perfect shade of brown. Swallowing and clutching the strap of his messenger bag tighter, he walked over to stand directly in front of her.

"Excuse me. I'm Dr. Sheldon Cooper. You're Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler."

She looked up from her book and frowned. "Hello, Dr. Sheldon Cooper. I'm sorry to inform you that you have been taken in by a social gathering designed to prey on the gullible and the lonely. Additionally, I am not interested in exchanging our digits."

"If that was slang, I'm unfamiliar with it. If it was literal, I share your aversion to unnecessary touching of the fingers. In any case, I'm here because I agreed to accompany my friend who was just dumped by a woman out of his league."

Dr. Fowler cocked her head. "Interesting. I am out of the league of all of the men here. My IQ is clearly higher."

"My IQ is 187," Sheldon shot back, his competitive nature stirring.

"Oh, is that all?" Dr. Fowler asked. And then she . . . well, Sheldon thought it might be a smirk.

_This will not do! Who is this infuriating woman? And why is she so . . ._ "What are you reading? Something stupid and childish, no doubt."

Dr. Fowler looked down and flipped her book so the cover was visible. Sheldon gasped even before she spoke, the wind surrounding him like the Mistral, whistling through his sinuses, making him feel queasy. Her voice seemed to come from far away. " _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."_

He turned sharply and sat down with a thump next to her. He didn't even know what to say. He tried to concentrate, tried to run the statistical probability in his head, but all he heard was the wind. "Dr. Cooper, are you all right?"

"I'm - I'm reading the same thing. Apparently." Then, to prove his point, he pulled out the book he didn't even remember owning fifteen minutes ago.

She raised her eyebrows behind her glasses. The widening of her eyes made Sheldon notice what a beautiful shade of emerald green they were. Then she said, "Great minds think alike."

"Apparently."

He looked away from her eyes. Somehow, he couldn't bear the weight of them, her gaze was too much. He saw her look straight ahead, too, from the corner of his eye. For some reason, this disappointed him, that she wasn't watching him any more. Sheldon licked his lips. "Why did you elect to read this book?"

Dr. Fowler's head swiveled back. "Are you trying to start a book club with me? We're the only two people here who want to talk about a book."

Sheldon shrugged. "Dr. Fowler, I don't object to the concept of a book club, but I'm baffled by the notion that one has to include more than two members."

"In that case, I think you should call me Amy."

He snapped his head back to her, and she was smiling this time, a wry smile but it seemed genuine. He nodded. "Noted. Now, before this goes any further, you should know that all forms of satire up to and including George Orwell are off the table."

She raised her eyebrows again. "Is that a challenge?"

"No, it's not a challenge." He raised a single eyebrow to mimic her face. "It's non-negotiable."

Amy let out a breath with a whistley tone that sounded almost like she said, "Hoooot."

Something about that sound made his cheeks burn. Or maybe it was the second sign of a fever. But it sounded so . . . intimate. Sheldon looked down at his lap.  _Pull it together, Cooper! Just talk about the book! Ignore your impending illness!_

He took a deep breath and looked back up at Amy. "I believe I asked you why you elected to read this book. It that a good starting place for a book club?"

"Yes, it's an excellent starting place," Amy nodded. "I choose it because . . ."

Maybe it was the beginning of whatever this illness was, maybe it was the lack of proper nourishment, but something highly unexpected started to happen. He, Sheldon Cooper, Ph.D., genius with an IQ of 187, at a party whose sole purpose was to symbolically sell sex to the highest bidder, started to relax. This Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler, whoever she was, was fascinating. She said things about the book that he had never considered before, she asked him thoughtful questions, she listened intently to his answers. And, despite the fact he suspected some of her replies were tinged with sarcasm, he found himself enjoying her sense of humor. It was all so strange, the music blaring around them, but here he was, having an enlightening conversation with an intelligent stranger that wasn't about science at all!

Until someone slapped him on the shoulder, causing him to jerk in surprise.

"Come on, Sheldon, we need to leave," Leonard said.

Sheldon reached up to caress his injured shoulder. "Why?"

"I just got a text from Penny. She has a flat tire."

Sheldon huffed, looking up at his friend. "And you think you're going to be able to change it for her and thus win back her undying affection?"

"Um, well, the plan is to wait with her until AAA shows up and thus win back her undying affection." Leonard shrugged.

"But I'm enjoying myself. To leave now would cause me to be rude to my new . . . friend."

"What friend?"

"Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler, meet my insufferable room -" Sheldon turned and gasped. "Where did she go?"

"Who, Sheldon? You've been sitting here alone reading all night."

"No. She was right here!" Sheldon pawed anxiously at the empty seat cushion that was next to him.  _Where did she go? She just right here!_  He realized the cushion wasn't even warm and he felt the Mistral whipping through his head again.

"Listen, buddy, I think you need to leave, too. I really do think you're coming down with a fever or something. I could you see all night from where I was standing. You were sitting here, all by yourself, reading. That's it."

"No, no, no!" Sheldon screamed. "She was here! She was a scientist, she was intelligent, she was funny, she was . . . ."  _Captivating._  He grabbed the sides of his head, trying to pull the memories back to him. Now she was the vapor, translucent like a ghost, fading in the scrutiny. He didn't know which was the most baffling: that she was gone without a trace or how much he found he missed her after a single conversation.

Sheldon looked up again, and now Howard and Raj were flanking Leonard.

"Really, dude, no one was there," Raj said and then smiled, flashing his white teeth. Suddenly he was gone and only his white smile remained. Sheldon gasped again.

"Yeah, man, you're acting like someone's gone off with your head," Howard said, and the next thing Sheldon knew he was wearing red and pounding a staff on the ground. "Off with your head! Off with your head!"

"No, no, no, no, no." Sheldon started to rock on the sofa. "I would have to be half mad to dream her up."

Then Leonard pulled out a pocket watch from a vest Sheldon had not previously noticed he was wearing. "Hey! That's my watch!"

Ignoring him, Leonard looked its face, his bushy eyebrows scrunching together into a single line. "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!"

Sheldon squeezed his eyes shut. "No, this isn't happening, she was right here. Amy was here. Amy will be here when I open my eyes. Amy. Amy."

Then the couch gave way beneath him and he felt himself falling, falling, falling. He tried to keep his eyes shut, so that Amy would be there when he opened them again, but the adrenaline flooding his system forced them open without his consent. His arms and legs were spinning, and all around him objects were twirling. He squinted to see them better. Books. Closed books. Open books, pages fluttering. Locked books. Little books. Thick books. Fiction books. Nonfiction books. Prose books. Books of poems. Graphic novels. Some of the sentences were leaking out, revolving around him. As he fell down the rabbit hole, he could read them all. Words for the best of times and the worst of times. Words for the truths that are universally acknowledged. Words for the rich times and the poor times, words for sickness and health, words to love, to honor, and to cherish. All of these words, all of these books, falling, tumbling, collapsing around him. All these books but so little time to read them. All of these books and no one with whom to discuss them, no one to make sense of it all for him. No one but Amy. But where was Amy?

"Amy, Amy, Amy." He shut his eyes again and started to chant, his mantra getting progressively louder. "Amy, Amy, Amy!" His hands struggled and clawed against the books and the words that were attacking him now, pecking at him like a million little birds.

All of his joints were sore from the fighting, his head was throbbing from the falling, his throat was raw from the yelling, and it was so very hot in the endless cavern that he was sweating profusely. "Amy, Amy, Amy!"

Something new, something shaking him. A voice, distant but longed for, was speaking. "Sheldon! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

He lurched violently out of the fog, his breath coming heavy. Amy was there, above him, her brow furrowed with concern. "Amy!"

"It's okay now, Sheldon. I'm here," she said.

"We have to have Book Club!" Sheldon blurted.

Amy smiled gently. "No, we don't. You're very sick and you need your rest. We'll have Book Club when you're feeling better." She pulled back the covers, and Sheldon let out his breath at the feel of cool air rushing in. It felt so wonderful. "You've sweated through your pajamas. Either the Tylenol is working or you were really terrified. Let me get you a clean pair."

Sheldon looked down and realized he was soaked in sweat. His skin started to itch at the feeling, but he reached out to grab Amy's arm before she left him again. "Amy? When we have Book Club, you'll be there, right?"

"I'm getting really worried about you. I think you should take a cool bath to lower your core temperature further -"

"Promise me, Amy! Promise me you'll be there. At Book Club. There are so many books and so little time!"

She tilted her head. "I promise, Sheldon. I'll always be there. At Book Club or anywhere else you need me."


	91. Through the Looking-Glass

**Through the Looking-Glass**

* * *

_Sheldon looked down and realized he was soaked in sweat. His skin started to itch at the feeling, but he reached out to grab Amy's arm before she left him again. "Amy? When we have Book Club, you'll be there, right?"_

_"I'm getting really worried about you. I think you should take a cool bath to lower your core temperature further -"_

_"Promise me, Amy! Promise me you'll be there. At Book Club. There are so many books and so little time!"_

_She tilted her head. "I promise, Sheldon. I'll always be there. At Book Club or anywhere else you need me."_

* * *

Nodding in return to her promise, Sheldon loosened his grip on her arm.

"I know you dislike baths, but I really think you should take one," Amy said, very worried about him. "Let's at least get these wet pajamas off." She couldn't remember when Sheldon had last been this sick. In the winter, she and Ada had suffered through a horrible cold, but Sheldon had somehow avoided it. Probably because of all the extra Purell he bought and used. He nodded again, and she started to help him unbutton his pajama top.

"Dad? Mom?"

Amy turned toward the little voice in the hallway. Ada was standing in the open door way, clutching the door frame. "It's okay, sweetheart. Daddy is very sick and had a nightmare, but he's awake now."

She turned her face back to Sheldon, who looked so pitiful. She didn't know how to divide herself this way, between her sick husband and her young child. Not for the first time in the few short years she had been a mother, Amy wished there were at least two of her. She sighed.

"Ada, can you be a very big girl and do Mama and Daddy a gigantic favor?" Ada nodded solemnly. "Will you go to the living room and ask Siri to let you watch something? Will you be a big girl and watch TV alone while Mama helps Daddy feel better?"

Her daughter's eyes widened slightly. "Anything I want?"

"Yes, anything Siri lets you watch," Amy said.

Ada smiled and scurried away.

"I'm not sure that was a good idea," Sheldon said, swinging his legs over to the side of the bed.

"It's fine, Sheldon. Remember how precise you were when you set up the parental controls? Come on, you're taking a bath," she said it firmly, but Sheldon didn't even try to argue.

She helped him to the bathroom and into the lukewarm water. "Is that too cold? It needs to be cool, but I don't want to make you chill again."

"No, it feels good," he answered. He laid his head back and let Amy drip and smooth the water over his warm body. She wondered if she should take his temperature again.

"Lean forward, let me get your back." He obliged. "Better?" She asked, having finished her ministrations. He nodded. She started to let the water drain, and picked up the hand sprayer to rinse him off. Sheldon smiled at her weakly. Yes, even sick Sheldon, probably especially sick Sheldon, would not want to sit in a pool of his own filth. She held his arm as he got out and was about to help dry him off when he spoke.

"Amy, I have to use the bathroom."

She laid the towel down. "Okay. I'll wait outside the door."

"No, go back to Ada. I'm fine, really. I think that helped. I'll just go back to bed."

Amy frowned. Divided, again.

"Go." Sheldon waved his hand. "I'm fine. Check on Ada."

With not a little reservation, Amy nodded, turned, and left. She paused at the end of the hallway, seeing Ada sitting on the sofa, her face illuminated by the television screen. She smiled. In that moment, her knobby knees tucked under her chin, sitting in Sheldon's spot, her hair still pulled back in the low ponytail she had wore to school, focusing so intently on something on the screen, Ada really did look so much like her father.

Amy walked over to sit next to her. "Ada, you put your pajamas on?" They were fuchsia, a long sleeve tee shirt and tight pants covered in simplified and stylized amebas, cells, and even little DNA strands. Sheldon had picked them out for her last birthday.

"I'm being a big girl," she answered, still watching the television, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Yes, sometimes she was so much like her father.

"Yes, you are a big girl. Thank you for helping me." Amy felt another devision, torn between wanting Ada to remain her little baby forever and the desire to see her grow up and conquer the world. Turning toward the screen herself, Amy watched, confused, for a couple of minutes. "Is this a  _Star Trek_  cartoon?"

"I wanted real _Star Trek_ , but Siri wouldn't let me," Ada said, her voice full of pouting.

"That's because  _Star Trek_ is rated PG and Siri will only let you watch G rated shows," Amy explained.

"But Dad and I watch it all the time!" Ada protested, finally turning away from the television to look at Amy.

"Well . . . that's because Daddy is there," Amy said weakly. Ada turned back toward the screen, sucked into any lit monitor in the way all small children were.

Every Saturday morning, for almost as long as Ada had been alive, she and her father spent that time together, just the two of them. At first it was part of the schedule, a feeding at 6:30 and then Sheldon would take her while Amy fell back to sleep. Then it became that they were both morning people. Amy knew she shouldn't complain about this special time between them. They were quiet and letting her sleep in, and Sheldon loved sharing his life-long Saturday morning ritual with his daughter. Yes, he had briefly fumed about the schedule change when they stopped showing  _Doctor Who_ at that time and switched to _Star Trek;_ but instilling a love of  _Star Trek_  in his little girl? He quickly adapted.

But Saturday mornings were yet another thing that made Amy feel divided. She loved coming around the corner and seeing the two of them, still in their pajamas, watching  _Star Trek_  together, their empty cereal bowls still setting on the coffee table. However, more often than not, Ada was curled up in his arms, the only other person allowed in Sheldon's spot. It wasn't rational, this weird almost-jealousy. After all, Amy had never seriously tried to sit in Sheldon's spot when he was home. But, with the entitlement of all children, Ada just assumed she could sit there, too; and, this was really the crux of the matter, Sheldon let her. So, that's how Amy usually saw them on Saturday mornings: two very similar peas, curled into one very happy pod.

Amy shook her head and tired to watch the cartoon with Ada.  _Wow, this is bad._  "Ada, do you watch this cartoon with Daddy?"

Ada shook her head. "No. We watch real  _Star Trek_."

"Do you like  _Star Trek_?" Amy ventured to ask.

"I like watching it with Dad.  _Star Trek_  is better when you're watching it with someone else."

Raising her eyebrows, Amy turned back to her suddenly profound daughter. "Did you just come up with that?"

"No. Daddy says it. He says it's why he likes watching it with you." Ada looked at her. "He says sometimes he wants you here when we watch, but you're sleeping."

Amy smiled. Apparently a lot more was going during early Saturday mornings than she previously thought. "What do you think about cereal for dinner? And we'll eat it here and watch  _Star Trek_ , just like with Daddy?"

"Oh, can we!" Ada shifted and pounced.

Chuckling, Amy got up and prepared the bowls of cereal. She had made other plans for dinner - the weekly menu was posted on the refrigerator as usual - but maybe she should experience what she was missing, to see what was on the other side of the looking-glass. Careful to pour only the minimal amount of milk into Ada's bowl, it struck Amy how very odd the cereal on the sofa ritual was for Sheldon. Normally, he was very strict about where and how Ada ate: only at the table, her bottom on the chair, no talking with her mouth full, politely asking to be excused. Was this another Saturday morning secret? Was her normally strict husband indulgent when she wasn't around?

She put out the bowl to hand it to Ada, but Ada got down on the floor by the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked.

"I have to eat at the coffee table. It's the rule," Ada said.

_What a strange evening this has been._  She really felt like she was looking at things backwards and so many things she thought she knew well were things she really didn't know at all. But, instead, she said, "Of course it is."

Amy sat behind Ada and ate her own cereal.  _Wow, this cartoon Star Trek is really horrible._ She turned her eyes toward her daughter, and watched her precisely eating her cereal and watching the television. What a unexpected creature she was becoming, now that she was definitely becoming someone. When Jacob or one of the other kids came over, they were always so noisy when they watched something, laughing or talking or squirming around. Not Ada. She was always so quiet, so still, soaking it in. This was her becoming her nature at other times, too: the quietness, the seriousness, the observation. Was this the Sheldon coming out in her? He could be very quiet, too, busy with his white board or on his computer or some other project.

Another division. It was nice to have a quiet child who would contently play by herself when asked. But should she be worried? Amy had secretly dreaded the "why" phase, knowing how insistent Sheldon could be when he wanted to understand something. But it had yet to come. Ada seemed to just absorb everything. Was Ada becoming shy? Were they being too strict, after all? Was she too isolated as an only child? What had happened to the chubby little version of her husband, who would squeal with delight at the top of her lungs when Amy would tickle her or blow raspberries on her stomach, two things Sheldon would have never allowed her to do to him?

"Mom, are you done?" Amy snapped to the present and took her last bite of cereal. She nodded at Ada, chewing. "Then you have to put your bowl down."

"Why?" Amy asked after she swallowed.

"Because then I sit on your lap. It's the order."

_Well, that is definitely the Sheldon coming out in her._  But she smiled and leaned forward with her bowl before welcoming the warm body on her lap. Ada fidgeted and settled. She was so tall for her age, already up to Amy's waist, and she didn't exactly fit comfortably anymore. And yet Amy was willing to struggle to contain her. This was a division Amy was already familiar with. Sometimes, she just wanted to be left alone, not to be touched and patted and poked. But there were times, and they were becoming more frequent now that Ada was getting more independent, that she missed her little dark-haired baby that would curl up on her shoulder and allow herself to be rocked to sleep.

Rubbing her daughter's back, Amy said, "You've got your top on backwards. Lean forward." Ada complied and Amy helped her take her arms out of the sleeves and rotate the top around her neck before reinserting her arms. "See the front has a saying: biologists take cellfies."

Ada reached up and touched the image before settling back in against Amy. "We should take a selfie."

Amy smiled, the pun lost on her daughter. "Where's my phone?"

"I'll get it!" Ada was up and back in a flash, holding out the coveted electronic she was so rarely allowed to touch. "Can I do it?"

"Sure." Amy shrugged slightly. It was such an unusual evening anyway, why not allow Ada this little joy? With a speed and dexterity Amy envied, the screen was in front of them in only a few seconds.

"Get closer, Mom." Amy wrapped her arms around her demanding daughter's tiny waist, hugging her and taking a deep breath of her just before the flash went off. Ada lowered the phone and seriously inspected the picture.

"Is it good?" Amy asked, peering over her shoulder.

Turning her heard, Ada looked back at her and smiled. "Can I post it to Instagram?"

Raising her eyebrows, Amy shook her head. "No, you're not allowed on my Instagram app and you know it. But how about I do it and you can watch?"

"Ookkayy," Ada huffed, but she turned and eagerly watched as Amy cropped and brightened the photo before posting it.

"What should we write as the caption?" Amy asked.

"Biologists take selfies!"

Amy chuckled. "It's a pun, Ada. Selfies is spelled wrong your pajamas; as c-e-l-l, which is the word for some of the designs on your pajamas. A cell is the smallest structural component of all living organisms." But she typed it with her thumb, anyway, for Ada:  _Me and my little biologist, taking a cellfie!_

"Oh." Ada paused and then said, as Amy stretched around her to put her phone down, "You're a biologist, right?"

"Yes, I am." Then she frowned slightly. "Did we talk about this?"

"Dad told me. He said it's a very important job for you, especially right now."

"Ah." Sheldon had proudly discussed her current study with Ada? The revelations tonight! "And what does he do for a living?"

"He said he could control that ship on  _Doctor Who_ , but -" Ada sucked in her breath, lowered her eyes, and whispered, "- I'm not sure."

Taking a deep breath herself, Amy considered her options. Lying was, of course, not allowed. Had Sheldon actually lied to their daughter? She didn't think he would, and not just because he was a horrible lier. In all likelihood, he truly believed those powers were only a few years from being within his grasp.

"What Dad means is that he does mathematical calculations that may some day help control a ship like the TARDIS. Right now it's all a theory, and he's working to prove parts of it are true."

"Oh, okay." Ada let out a sound that Amy thought might be relief and settled back against her once more, curling up in her lap, turning her face back toward the screen.

Trying to watch more of the interminably bad  _Star Trek_ cartoon, Amy asked, "Who is your favorite character? Spock?"

Surely it would be Spock, right? Surely Sheldon had preached his virtues to Ada.

Ada shook her head. "No. Uhura."

"Really? Why?"

"Because she's pretty like you."

Amy took a breath. She knew she should use this as a teaching opportunity, that it didn't matter that Uhura was pretty. What mattered was that she was intelligent and had a career. She was a female bridge officer on the great starship Enterprise, and that was what should be admired.

"Thank you," she murmured instead.

"But Dad says it's important to be smart like you, not just pretty like you. Right, Mom?"

Amy blushed and ran her hand through Ada's hair, looking into her earnest little face. "Yes, it's very important. You should be modest about your body, but never about your mind."

"What's modest?"

"Oh." Amy thought for a moment. "I'm glad you asked. It's a very important concept. Your body is very special, and parts of it are very private. The parts we cover with clothes, remember?" Ada nodded. "So we don't show those parts off, we don't put them on display for other people. Because they belong just to us, and we only use them for private things."

"Like when we go potty," Ada added.

"Yes, exactly, I'm very happy you remember that. But our mind - well, it's also very special, but we should be proud of our minds and we should never, ever be afraid to prove our intelligence to the world. We should never pretend that we don't know something that we really do. And we must always try to work hard to make our mind grow bigger and stronger by learning new things."

"I promise," Ada whispered.

A feeling of great satisfaction filled Amy. She was never certain if she was doing this mothering thing correctly, and certainly her friends had very different parenting styles. She knew that Sheldon thought she was in denial about Ada's obvious intelligence; but rather it was that she didn't want to speak about it just yet, that she wanted to give her daughter a few years of normal, innocent childhood. But she wasn't blind to the fact that Ada was grasping ever greater concepts daily. Amy did not ever want Ada to hide her light under a basket. Instead, someday, she hoped just as much as Sheldon did that her light would shine upon the world. Nothing would make Amy prouder. However, just for a couple of more years, she wanted this little girl sitting on her lap, wearing her silly pajamas. The rest could wait.

"Ada, would you like to watch my favorite cartoon when I was your age? If Siri can find it?" Amy suddenly asked.

"Yes!" Ada bounced on her lap.

Raising her voice slightly, Amy asked, "Siri, do you have episodes of the  _Muppet Babies_ from the 1980's?"

After a minute, a list appeared the screen. Amy scanned the titles, knowing which episode she was looking for. "'Journey to the Center of the Nursery,'" she called.

As the cartoon started, Amy explained over the theme song, "My favorite episodes were the one in which they reenacted a famous novel. This one is based on  _Journey to the Center of the Earth_  by Jules Verne -"

"Shhh," Ada shushed her. "It's starting."

The sun was setting behind them, and the great room was filled with a yellow glow as it always was at this time in the summer. It lit up the top of Ada's hair, make it gleam almost golden as Amy squeezed her tighter and kissed her temple. So the  _Muppet Babies_ had not withstood the test of time - the sound and video quality were very poor - but for this one evening, Sheldon asleep in the other room, she got to hold her little girl on the sofa, watching television with her, and curling up close, like two similar peas in a very happy pod.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	92. Marie Curie and Her Daughters

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**September 2021**

**Primary Topic: _Marie Curie and Her Daughters: The Private Lives of Science's First Family_ by Shelley Emiling**

* * *

"Daddy, Dad!"

Amy glanced over at Ada pulling on Sheldon's pant leg as he helped her load the dishwasher after dinner.

"Yes, Ada?" he asked, pausing and looking down.

"Can I draw on your white board?"

"Let's ponder this using the Socratic method. Do you have the opposable thumbs and manual dexterity required for such an activity?" Sheldon asked.

Ada sighed deeply. Amy smiled. _Sometimes she is so much like her father._  " _May_  I draw on your white board?"

"Yes, you may." Sheldon followed after her little scamper across the room, sliding the board he had been using out of the way to expose the blank one under it. "What are the rules?" he asked, getting down the container of washable markers.

"No touching Daddy's work. No drawing anywhere but the whiteboard," Ada recited. Amy put the tea kettle on and leaned against the counter top to watch.

"Very good. What are you going to draw? How about some equations? I'll help."

"No."

"No? But algebra is fun!"

"No, Dad, only you think that."

Before she could stop it, Amy chuckled. Sheldon shoot her a dirty look, and Amy covered her mouth. He crossed back over to her and leaned against the counter next to her, as they both watched Ada studiously pondering which marker to use first.

"She is so stubborn sometimes," he said.

Amy chuckled again.

"Oh, you think it's funny, do you?" he asked. "It's all fun and games until she argues with you about what clothes to wear in the morning."

"I supposed she comes by it naturally." Amy shrugged. "We're both stubborn people."

"Speak for yourself. And what are you making tea for?"

"Since when do we need a reason? And it's Book Club Night." Amy turned toward him.

"Now? Not later, after Ada has gone to bed?"

"I actually don't have anything else pressing to do. Ada's busy and happy. Let's sit down and enjoy Book Club."

Sheldon cocked his head and shrugged. "Very well." He opened the cabinet to reach for the tea caddy as the kettle started to whistle. "What do you feel like?"

"Surprise me. I'll get our books."

After retrieving their Kindles, Amy returned to two steaming mugs of tea setting on the dining table. Sheldon was sitting in the chair at the head the table, watching Ada draw in her unhurried and precise way.

"What's our little Picasso working on?" Amy asked, joining him.

"I think it's a rocket ship," Sheldon said as he reached for his mug of tea.

"Science fiction! Sheldon, you should be pleased."

"I am." Sheldon looked at her and smiled. "Book Club?"

"Yes." Amy took a drink. Ah, lemon zinger. Because, she was certain, zinger meant surprise. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly at Sheldon's little pun as she lowered her mug. "I suppose this book has ushered in a new era of Book Club, hasn't it? Were you pleased with the change?"

Her husband shrugged. "Yes and no. As you are aware, I was . . . concerned after last month's Book Club that perhaps there were too many books to read, that it was a mistake to limit ourselves to only fiction. But now I'm not so sure." He took a drink of his own tea. "Am I correct that you started Book Club in order to encourage me to read more fiction?"

Amy wrinkled her nose. "No, I started Book Club as another activity that we could do together. I loved to read - still do - and I wanted to share it with my boyfriend. You read fiction before: comic books, Harry Potter. But I have been pleasantly surprised by how much you've embraced Book Club. I really do think we've both broadened our horizons." She paused. "Is this your way of telling me you regret expanding Book Club to include nonfiction?"

"Yes and no." He sighed. "I've learned from you that fiction, at least good fiction, is so rarely what it seems on the surface. But nonfiction is fairly clear. And maybe we both would have read this book at some time and discussed it anyway."

Glancing over at their daughter, Amy said, "If we had the time . . . maybe." She reached out to touch his hand. "I liked it. That you wanted to try something new, that you felt so invested in Book Club that you wanted to improve it."

"Of course I'm invested in Book Club. I don't read the same book at the same time as just any woman!"

Amy laughed. "Well, good. How about this: Book Club will remain mostly fiction, but if we're both interested in a nonfiction book, we can include it?"

Sheldon cocked his head. "Yes, that sounds like a reasonable plan if a bit loosy-goosy."

Amy chuckled as she lowered her mug. "So, now that the state of Book Club has been discussed, how about we discuss the actual book? Were you pleased with your choice?"

"Very much so. As you know, I'm a great admirer of Marie Curie."

"Indeed. I was especially interested to learn how she balanced motherhood with a busy and successful scientific career." Amy nodded but then turned down the corners of her mouth. "I was a little disappointed in this book, though."

"Not enough physics? That was my complaint," Sheldon said.

"No. It's clearly not meant to be a physics textbook, Sheldon, and you know it. I wanted to know more about how she juggled those roles when her daughters were young. This book starts when they are already teenagers."

"I thought you learned a lot about her parenting style. Sending them math problems with each letter she wrote? Obviously brilliant parenting."

Amy smiled softly. "But didn't you think it was sad they were apart so much? I mean, the very fact she had to write her own children letters?"

Sheldon looked over at Ada, who was now mumbling to herself as she drew. Amy watched him watching their daughter for a moment, and then he said softly, "I don't know how she did it. Even for the sake of science."

Amy reached her hand over to his once again and squeezed it. "Me, neither."

"Do you regret that you kept working?" Sheldon turned back to her. "We never talked about. I realized that as I read this book, when Marie came to America and her reporter friend felt she had to mislead the public, to make them think Marie believed women should not work outside the home when their children were young. Why didn't we ever talk about it?"

"Because I never considered not going back to work. And you never considered not going back to work, either; don't forget that for us, in our time, either one of us could have chosen to be a stay-at-home parent. We're scientists, Sheldon, that's what we do. Are there mornings I just want to stay home and cuddle with Ada all day? Of course. Are there mornings she is a terror, and I can't wait to drop her off at daycare? It may be socially unacceptable to admit this, but yes. I never considered not working because my work is a very large part of who I am. I would not be Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler without my work, just as you would not be Dr. Sheldon Cooper without yours. For me, my decision was the best possible example I could set for my daughter that I am a strong, intelligent, independent woman with an important career. That's not to say that's the only correct choice. Every woman who choses to leave her job behind and become a full-time parent is just as strong and independent. It's a very personal decision. I'm just glad that, thanks to women like Marie, I have that choice."

"I can't imagine anyone setting a better example than you." Sheldon leaned over and kissed her cheek. "How strange that you equate a woman's right to work outside the home and gender equality to Marie Curie, when she purposely choose not to get involved in those political issues."

"She didn't realize that by choosing to make her own decisions she was making a statement. She always thought her life was devoted to pure science, but she actually made a lot statements: she believed in sexual freedom, she was angered by anti-Semitism and facism, all sorts of things. Her actions spoke louder than her words." Amy stopped. "Why are you looking at me like that, Sheldon?"

He had been staring at her, barely blinking his beautiful blue eyes behind his glasses. "You're so beautiful when you're passionate about something."

Feeling her cheeks blush, Amy said, "You've hardly said anything. I thought you were the Marie Curie fan in this family."

"I liked how dedicated she was to the pursuit of pure scientific research. Her goal was to learn more, to know more, just knowledge for its own sake. Yes, it's wonderful if one's research leads to a discovery to benefit mankind, but it's more important to just be curious and make that discovery than it is to always be thinking of the direct usefulness of one's work."

"What did you think of her daughters?" Amy asked.

"Well, of course I was familiar with Irene Joliet-Curie and her contribution to physics. If her mother had not been so remarkable, she might have been the one we would be discussing tonight," he answered.

"When we read fiction, one of of us often points out a quote or a passage we especially liked. Since this is nonfiction, do you feel you are able to do the same?"

"I liked it when Irene said 'In our family we are accustomed to glory.' We should make that our family motto. With a crest or something," Sheldon said.

"I'll get right on cross-stitching that on a pillow," Amy replied.

"What a good idea!" Sheldon enthused. "Oh, you should make three: one for our bed, one for Ada's bed, and one for the couch so our all friends will see it when they come over and be reminded of our collective brilliance!"

"I was being sarcastic, Sheldon." Then she smiled. "But if _you_  want to cross-stitch it on a pillow, we can put it wherever you like."

Just then, Amy's watch chimed. She lifted her wrist and read silently for a minute. "A text from Stuart. He says that he is starting a new class for four-and-five-year-olds at the store, to introduce them to drawing comic books. But he's asking if we would consider sending Ada. He knows she's not four yet but he thinks she would enjoy it, that he has noticed when he babysits that she has a lot of natural talent."

"Pffphhh."

Amy looked up at him, lowering her arm. "What does that mean? You should be flattered, that Stuart thinks she has talent and that he feels she's mature enough to handle a class for older children. I think it's a good idea."

"No, it's not."

"Why not?" Amy waved her hand. "Look at her: she loves to draw."

Sheldon stood up and reached for Amy's empty mug. "Yes, but drawing isn't science. I don't think she should waste her time on it."

"Waste her time?" Amy got up and followed him to the kitchen. "It's not about wasting her time, it's about having fun."

"If she wants to have fun, we should start piano lessons. At least that has value. You're a neurobiologist, you know what the studies show. Learning music helps with both spatial temporal reasoning and language analytical reasoning. It helps with the understanding of the relationship between mental images in space and time, the symmetries of inherent cortical firing used to compare physical and mental images, and the natural temporal sequences of those inherent cortical patterns."

Amy grabbed Sheldon's hand and pulled him toward the spare bathroom.

"Amy, what are you doing?"

"We're going in here," she said, shoving him inside.

"Why?" He tried to shift past her, to get out. "What is going on? You always say we should have our disagreements calmly in front of Ada so that she can see our example of how mature, rational adults solve their differences."

"Because I don't want what is about to happen to happen in front of Ada. Because this is not a calm disagreement." She blocked his path.

"Oh -" She saw his eyes register. "Are we about to have an argument?"

"You'd better believe it! Leave your scrawny hind-end in there." Amy pushed him back into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

"Who's hind-end are you calling scrawny?"

"Obviously not mine. Now, what is all this nonsense about Ada can't take an art class?" Amy hissed, crossing her arms.

"It's not nonsense! Well, an art class is nonsense, not the absence of Ada's presence from said art class. She should be concentrating on math and science." Sheldon crossed his own arms.

"She's three, Sheldon. She likes to draw. She likes Stuart. And she likes comic books, which may I remind you, she gets from you. Besides, I think it would be very good for her. She's also too serious."

"Too serious?"

"Yes! Haven't you noticed how quiet she is? I'm worried she's becoming shy. You know what her teacher said: sometimes at daycare she prefers to play by herself instead of engaging with the other children. I'm not sure that's healthy."

"Because's she clearly smarter than they are!" Sheldon threw up his hands. "I think we should be thrilled that she has mastered independent, self-directed play! We just had a peaceful evening with Book Club without a single interruption! Some of our friends would kill for that!"

"But you clearly disprove of her self-directed activities! She likes to draw, so let's encourage that."

"You're not the only one worried about her, you know. I was reading by the time I was three. Not just doodling."

Amy clenched her fists. "Don't you dare start that! You know that means almost nothing. I wasn't reading at age three, and I'm just as intelligent as you! This is not about her future IQ. Do I need to send you the study by Lillian Katz at The University of Illinois about the distinctions between academic and intelligential goals in young children? -"

"Illinois. Phhhhttttt," Sheldon said.

"- In which she provides proof that you 'must provide a wide range of experiences, opportunities, resources and contexts that will provoke, stimulate, and support children's innate intellectual dispositions'? That's what I'm trying to do: providing a wide range of experiences and art is just one of those experiences!"

"But Ada is the daughter of scientists. We need to encourage the sciences! She could be the next Irene Joliet-Curie!"

Amy stomped her foot. "Or she could be the next Eve Curie! Remember, Marie's other daughter? You know, the National Book Award winning author? The famous author? Marie always supported her goals and talents. I don't know why you're surprised by Ada's talent. She is the granddaughter of a writer and an artist!"

" _Your mother_?" He could not have said it with more disdain. "She's a lifestyle and obituary writer for the  _L.A. Times_. Not exactly Noble Prize-winning literature!"

Amy took a deep breath. But not a calming one. "I cannot answer that without killing you. And the artist is your mother!"

"My mother?" Sheldon's shoulders snapped back like he'd been hit. "What are you talking about?"

"The paintings in the hallway upstairs in her house. The house you grew up in."

"Wh -" She saw Sheldon's mind replaying the scene in his head, exactly as existed.

"Whose signature is at the bottom of all those paintings, Sheldon?"

He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I never once saw her paint," he whispered. "How did I never notice that?"

Amy relaxed her arms, realizing he truly didn't know. "She told me she stopped when you and Missy were born. She didn't have the time anymore with twins." Then she added softly, "I thought you knew."

Sheldon shook his head.

"I need to go check on Ada," Amy said, opening the door and leaving Sheldon standing in the middle of the bathroom, looking like he had seen a ghost.

* * *

Spending the rest of the evening playing with her daughter, Amy mostly ignored Sheldon. She saw him come back to living room after several minutes and get on his computer. She knew they needed to discuss Stuart's art class and the bigger issue of fostering Ada's interests further, but she would let it rest for the evening. It was easy to ignore him, since he seemed lost in his own cloud. He didn't even spend his usual half-hour of teaching time with Ada after her bath.

Once Ada was in bed and Amy had read to her for an additional length of time, Amy went to undress. It was too early for sleep, but she thought she would read in bed alone for awhile. If Sheldon could silently pout all evening, so could she. But his head appeared around the corner to the closet just as she was unbuttoning her cardigan.

"John Hopkins," he said with a long exhale.

"The hospital or the 19th-century abolitionist and philanthropist?" Amy asked, not meeting his eyes as she took off her cardigan.

"Neither. The university. They have a Masters of Art degree in Medical and Biological Illustration. It's very prestigious, very few students are accepted. It requires a heavy undergraduate course load in the sciences, primarily biology, of course." He was speaking softly, hesitantly.

Amy sighed as she folded her cardigan and started to unbutton her blouse. "I appreciate what you are trying to do, Sheldon. I really do. But you have to remember that Ada is only three. Let's not map out her life for her. We should let her discover who she is, who she wants to be, on her own timeframe."

"But I knew what I wanted to be when I was three!"

Unzipping her skirt, Amy asked, "Didn't you ever go through those phases when you wanted to be something regardless of whether or not it was possible? Like an astronaut or a fireman?"

"I could be an astronaut if I wanted to wear an adult diaper. But a fireman? Why? Thermal damage to my respiratory system would cause me to stop breathing, and then I couldn't explain science to the world."

Despite herself, Amy found her lips turning up. "Not a fireman? More's the pity . . ."

"Do you really think Ada is becoming anti-social?" Sheldon asked, leaning against the doorway and crossing his long legs.

"I didn't use the word anti-social. And I don't think it's nearly that severe yet, but there are times I am concerned about her being an only child. I don't want her to grow up isolated, as an out-cast." Amy clipped her skirt on the correct hanger.

Amy looked over at Sheldon and saw him nod softly but firmly. "No, I don't either." He sighed. "But she has friends. Jacob, always, and the other kids. And you said her playdates with Remy have gone well."

"Yes," Amy said. Sheldon was correct, she was probably overreacting. Maybe Ada would just be an introvert, but not necessarily shy or lonely. Goodness knew it was going to be hard for her to top her father's presence in any room.

There was a pause before Sheldon spoke again. "You're right, of course."

Giving him a small smile, Amy said. "Of course I am. But how exactly?"

"Her art. I looked it up on the Internet. Her skills are far beyond the average art skills of three year old. Perhaps a structured art class would be good for her. And she'd enjoy it."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Oh, it's art now? Not just doodles?"

"Maybe."

Amy laughed, and finally she saw Sheldon grin too.

"A fireman? Really?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. So big and strong and he could just throw you over his shoulder as he rescued you . . . " She let her voice trail off, looking down at her bare feet.

The next thing she knew Sheldon's head was diving into her side, and he wrapped her arm around the back of his head. She squealed as she came off the ground in a rush. "Sheldon, what are you doing?"

"You want a fireman, I'll give you a fireman!"


	93. Fireman

**Fireman**

* * *

_"A fireman? Really?" he asked._

_"Oh, yeah. So big and strong and he could just throw you over his shoulder as he rescued you . . . " She let her voice trail off, looking down at her bare feet._

_The next thing she knew Sheldon's head was diving into her side, and he wrapped her arm around the back of his head. She squealed as she came off the ground in a rush. "Sheldon, what are you doing?"_

_"You want a fireman, I'll give you a fireman!"_

* * *

"What are you doing?" Laughter peeling out of her mouth, drowning out the  _shuffle, shuffle_  of his shoes on the carpet under the weight of his load.

"The fireman's carry. Obviously." A louder, longer shuffle as he pivoted on one foot. Small, tiny shuffles as he squeezed sideways through the closet door. "Watch your head."

_Laughter, shuffle, laughter, shuffle._  Long shuffle again, but wider as he swung in a circle in the middle of the bedroom. "The floor?"

"Carpet burn?" More laughter.

A grunt of amusement. "Good point."

Another wide, swinging shuffle. The muffled  _slap_  as Amy's hand swatted his bottom through his pants. "Oh, just put me on the bed!"

"No, I'm rescuing you, remember? This isn't your bedroom and there is nary a bed in sight." Laughter - so much laughter - louder, faster. The sound of joy.

_Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle_ , straight and determined. Quiet, tilting  _rustle_ of her skin sliding away from his clothes. The sudden stop of laughter.  _Wmmmph_  along with "Wmmmph" from her mouth. The firm, plump sound of Amy's bottom hitting the top of the dresser.

"Shel -"

The  _smack_  of a sudden kiss. A tiny squeal of surprise vibrating beneath his lips. The barely sound of his hands holding the side of her face. Smooth  _rustle_ of her hands, snaking up his chest, his arms, his shoulders. The increase in breathing, strong through their noses. No sounds for the pushing, the pressing, the sliding of their tongues.

The suction of pulling back, the panting. "Mouth to mouth resuscitation. To give your lungs oxygen."

A purr in reply. "I don't think that was the correct method."

"My fire house, my rules."

Laughter, deeper, richer. It transitions into the sound of another smacking kiss. No sound as his fingertips slide down her cheek, her neck, past her collar bone, inside the cup of her bra. Only the roaring in his head when he feels her nipple hardening beneath his touch.

"Mmmmmmm." A moan into his mouth. The roaring gets louder. A  _shuffle, rustle_  as he steps even closer, his trousers pressing against her.

_pop pop_ Almost silent for each hook-and-eye. The suction of pulling back, the whisper as the straps slide down her arm, the whipping of air as her bra whirls through the air and is tossed aside.

The silence as he takes in the sight.  _Phhhlllpp_  as he licks his lips.

"Grrrnnnnn." The wet sound of his tongue encircling her nipple. The  _swullllsh_  as the skin of her thighs skids against the wooden top of the dresser. The sound of her pressing closer to him with a low "Mmmmmmmmm."

A rhythmic quiet rubbing sound. In time with his suckles, in time with her back arches, in time with her thigh rubbing against him. It drowns out the sound of his finger walking down her body, the sound of his fingers reaching the edge of her panties.

"Grrrrrrr." A wet pop as he breaks suction.

"You can't be angry. You're still dressed."

"I don't think these are fire retardant."  _Swulllsh_  as she shifts again, meeting his thumbs on her waistband.  _Tffff, tffff, tffff_ as he tugs without success. Then, suddenly, _rrrriiiipppp._  Loud, too loud as he yanks the newly-tattered panties off.

"Sheldon!" She sounds as though she might genuinely be angry. "Do you have any idea how much underwear at Victoria's Secret costs?

"I'm so big and strong and brawny I can't help it." Bold, manly. The sound of daring.

The sound of her smile, impish and mischievous. The sound of forgiveness. The sound of enjoyment.

Single  _shuffle_  away. Rapid  _rustle_  as both tee shirts come off in one move.  _Thummpffffle_ as they land on the floor.

Again silence covering the sound of his appraisal as he continues to take in the sight of her nakedness, her legs still spread from where he was standing second before. His approval. His arousal.

"Touch yourself." Hoarse. Surprise at the end. His own.

"What?" The sound of shock.

A deep swallow, the sound of which reaches the bottoms of his ears. "Touch yourself." Firm. Determined. Challenging.

A pause. The sound of trust crackling in the air as they gage each other. He believes he can hear the green embers burning in her eyes.

"Wwwwwwwoooooo." A deep breath out. "Mmmmmmm." She makes contact.

Another swallow reverberates through his jaw.

_Jangle, jangle_  of his belt.  _Pop_  of the button.  _Zzziiiiiiiipppppp._  In rapid succession, with an urgent need.

_squish, squish, squish_ The faint, wet rhythmic sound. Panting though parted pink lips.

_Thump! Thump!_ First one shoe is kicked away, then the next. _Plllummffffh_  as everything else falls at his feet.

"Wait."  _Shuffle_  step. Her eyes open and the sound of the embers return even as the liquid sound of motion stops. "I think I'm supposed to be rescuing you."

_Smack_  as his lips capture her again.

"Mmmmmmm." Into his mouth as his hand falls over her, sitting the pace for her.  _squish, squish, squish_. The roar in his ears, pulsing with rhythm of his tongue, of their hands, as his entire body with the faint _rrbb, rrbb, rrbb_  of himself as he rubs against the back of his hand.

Sudden silence. _Squuuaaassshhh._  "Ohhhh!" This from both of them as he pulls their hands away and enters her without warning.

"The fire hose." His mumble.

A sudden stop in movement. "Nnn" from Amy as she looks up him. "No, don't say that. That's awful."

"I don't think I'm very good at this."

"Don't say that again, and you'll be just fine." Soothing, soft. She pulls him closer.

"Oh, Amy." Not words so much as a moan, muffled by her lips. The gentle slap as his palm makes contact with her thigh, tugging her right leg higher. "Grrrnnnn" as he is able to find his way deeper into her. The damp rhythm is no longer faint.

_knock_  Her head barely makes a sound as it hits the wall behind her. A sudden noise of air, as he his other hand reaches cup to hold the back of her head. knock, knock, knock of his knuckles against the drywall _. rrrrrbbbbbbbb_ of skin as Amy wraps herself around him, locking both legs behind him and massages his back in time with his thrusts. Forward, up on the balls of his feet, rocking back down again; the silent metronome in his brain, in his muscles, remembering the steps to this exact waltz.

"Is this good?"

"Oh, yes. Mmmmmmmm. It's fiery hot."

"You vixen. I don't think you're very good at this, either."

"Hunnnmmmm." The unusual noise of a chuckle mixed with a moan of pleasure right next to his ear, one most erotic things he's ever heard.

"Amy - I'm -" The words cannot form.

"Ah, ah, ah, Shelllldddoonnn!" Amy explodes around him, throwing her head back, forcing his knuckle into the wall behind her with a loud WHACK _._

"GRRRRRRRNNNNNNNN!" The roar of pleasure as it shouts through his body, and it bolts out his lungs.

Panting. Heavy, full of air. _Ppphhh._  A gentle kiss.  _Pppllfff_ as Amy's legs fall beside him. More panting, louder, coarser, pulsing through his head as he leans his forehead against her shoulder.

_Ssss, sssss, ssssss_ The soft scintillating sound of his hair being messed by Amy's gentle hands.

"What was that? Besides wonderful," she adds in a rush.

"A quickie? Not really angry sex. Make-up sex? Minimally successfully role-playing?"

A chuckle, her jaw tickling his ear. "No, I meant when you asked me to . . ."

Rapid  _shuffle_  as he adjusts his feet to stand up straight, to look in her face. "I'm sorry."

"No, no." The smooth sound of her palm on his chest. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to. Even for you, Sheldon. I'm just curious."

A breath out with his shrug. "I don't know. You were just sitting there, your legs were apart, and I - I don't know."

"Come here."

Short  _shuffle_.  _Smmm, smmm_  as her hands smooth over his cheeks. The crackle of trust between their eyes again, softer this time. "I love watching you get aroused, too."

_Ssmmummpp_. A very soft, very gentle kiss. The sound of understanding.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	94. Lord of the Flies

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2021**

**Primary Topic: _Lord of the Flies_  by William Golding**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The Hunger Games_  by Suzanne Collins,  _Animal Farm_  by George Orwell,  _The Green Mile_ by Stephen King**

* * *

Penny met them at the door, wearing some sort of bizarre white caftan.

"Did you steal that from the set?" Sheldon asked, since long flowing robes were the standard attire of her character on the SyFy series in which she acted. He had yet to decide if that was because her character was one of the few of her of species capable of propagation, and thus ever pregnant, or if it was because the actress was ever pregnant. Maybe both.

"No, I didn't steal it from the set. It's the most comfortable thing I can wear," Penny replied with an eye roll. "The food's already here."

As they stepped across the threshold to the Hofstadter home, Ada ran away from them toward the playroom. Sheldon could hear Leonard in there already.

"I think you look beautiful, Penny. Like Mother Earth," Amy cooed. Sheldon snorted. She looked liked the ghost of a beached whale. "Are you sure you're up to this?" Amy continued.

Their blonde friend reached down to rub her rounded frame as they walked to the dining room. "Sure. I feel great. And I'm beyond ready. We've been on hiatus for three weeks now, and I just feel like I'm spending all my time waiting. Although, not for long. If I don't go on my own this weekend, the doctor said we'd induce Monday."

"That's exciting," Amy said just as Leonard exited the playroom.

"Hey, guys!" he said, as Fenny ran out behind him, yelling, "Uncle Shel! Look!"

Sheldon looked down at the blonde little boy, holding up a train car. He bent down to take it from Fenny's offered hands. "Fenton, do you know what this is? This is the engine to the 20th Century Limited, a passenger express which traveled from New York City to Chicago between 1902 and 1967."

"Uncle Shel, can you -" Fenny turned at the sound of the ruckus at the front door, as both the Wolowitz and the Koothrappali-Bloom clans had arrived the same time. Sheldon was forgotten as Fenny ran toward Jacob and they raced together back to the playroom, Lucy trailing behind.

Standing, Sheldon sighed softly. "I thought he was going to ask me to play trains with him."

"You know you can come over and play trains with him anytime," Leonard said.

"Yeah, Sheldon, he loves you," Penny added.

"For some inexplicable reason," Howard said. "Hey, everyone!"

Trains were forgotten in the hubbub of exchanging pleasantries, Penny telling Bernadette about the impending birth, and the general arranging of the Thai food and the preparing of plates for the children. It was a system they had long since settled upon, and once all the children were seated at their little table in the playroom, where they would not stay long, the adults returned to the dining table to talk and benignly ignore their offspring unless there was crying or blood.

At first, Sheldon had not approved of this arrangement as he felt it was neglectful. But Amy, as always, had made him see the wisdom in this system. There was nothing truly dangerous in the playroom, the double doors were open so that the entire room could be seen in pieces by one of the adults if they leaned in the right direction, and the children could always be heard. Most importantly, the kids loved it; Ada, even, had taken to occasionally referencing Friday as "play day" and her running away at the second of their arrival was not unique to her or the other little ones. But it was when Amy had reminded him softly that they should allow Ada to have all the fun with her friends for as long as she could because she was a very lucky little girl to have such a group to grow up with, that Sheldon resigned himself to the mild form of anarchy that took place in the playroom. Sheldon would have loved to have a friend named Fenny to play trains with when he was child.

And, after all, weren't they both in agreement that as long as Ada wasn't misbehaving or breaking any rules, that they allowed her to have unstructured play time in their own home? Amy said it was to encourage her imagination, Sheldon said it was to encourage her to experiment; two sides of the same coin, Amy ruled.

Now that everyone was seated to eat, topics fell into their usual course, until Bernadette asked, "Is there anything you need before the baby comes, Penny? Diapers?"

"No, thank you. Leonard went to Costco last weekend and stocked up," Penny replied.

"We don't have a December baby yet, right?" Stuart asked. A pause then a murmur of agreement went around.

"It could be a November baby still," Sheldon pointed out. "It's only six-thirty."

"You better sleep with one eye open, Leonard. The last time Sheldon pointed that out to me, Ada was born," Amy added.

"Oh, Sheldon, are you the labor whisper? Here, rub my stomach and maybe I'll go tonight after all," Penny asked, turning toward him.

He recoiled. "I'm not touching you."

"You used to touch Amy's stomach all the time when she was pregnant. We saw it," Raj said.

"That's not all I heard he touched all the time," Howard mumbled. Snickers rounded the table.

Sheldon shot him a dirty look. "Really? Are we still talking about that? Four years later?"

"Because it's still funny," Howard said.

Amy chuckled on the other side of him, and Sheldon turned sharply to her. "You, too?"

"Oh, come on, Sheldon," she said, grinning at him. "It's your overreaction that makes it funny."

"Wait, something just occurred to me," Bernadette said. "It's November 30th."

"Yeah?" Leonard said.

"Isn't that Book Club night for a certain strange couple we know?" she asked.

Sheldon saw Amy shift in her chair next to him. "Yes, it is," she said in measured tones.

"We're not making fun of that again," Sheldon added.

"We never made fun of it!" Raj protested.

"Yeah, Sheldon, I thought we had a pretty deep conversation," Penny added. "Besides, what did you read? That's all we want to know."

Nods went around the table when Frannie came running into the dining room and put her arms up for Leonard to pick her up. "What is it, cutie-pie?" he asked, brushing her unruly curls out of her face.

Frannie said something in some combination of baby talk and, Sheldon was convinced, pig latin. He thought he heard Fenny's name but couldn't be sure. Once again, he felt pride at his own prodigy; Ada had perfect, clear enunciation from the very first "Mama." However, in a feat of computational prowess that amazed him, Leonard seemed to grasp every word. "It's okay. Just tell Fenny that Daddy said to stop it. Do you want to sit with me for awhile?"

Frannie settled in against Leonard's chest, and he picked up his fork in the other hand. "So, what was the book again?"

" _Lord of the Flies_ ," Amy answered for them. Then she turned, looking at Sheldon. "They're right, Sheldon, they didn't make fun of it. They had ideas."

He grunted. Book Club was their thing, he and Amy! Just he and Amy!

" _Lord of the Flies_?" Raj asked. "What's that?"

"It's like the original  _Hunger Games,_ " Stuart answered. "From like the 1940s or something."

"1954," Sheldon corrected him. Neither he or Amy would have made such a simple mistake if they were alone for Book Club. "It's not necessarily World War II that is being referenced. Some believe it was an unnamed but feared nuclear war. The author is William Golding. It's considered a young adult classic."

"So it's a book about kids killing each other in a nuclear war?" Raj asked.

"No," Howard jumped in. "A plane crashes on a tropical island and it's full of school kids - all boys - and all the adults are dead. It's how they live and stuff."

"So nobody dies?" Penny asked.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "See, Amy, not every one in America has read it! I'm not the only one!"

"Wait, Sheldon had never read it before?" Bernadette asked.

"No. I have since done research and determined that it was required reading in eighth grade in the school system I attended as a child. But I was already in college at that age, reading far more important things." Sheldon turned back to Penny. "What's your excuse?"

"Um," Penny wrinkled her face. "I think I just didn't read it. I remember seeing it around. Maybe I was supposed to read it but didn't . . . . " She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Rajeesh, are we to presume you didn't read as it wasn't required reading in India? Is that because of anti-colonist sentiment, since it's written by a British citizen?" Amy asked.

Raj shrugged, swallowing a bite of food. "I don't know. I've never heard of until now."

Just then, there was a rumble from the playroom and Lucy yelled, "Jacob, I tell Mom!"

Rising quickly, Bernadette stormed into the playroom, her body hidden from Sheldon's view but her voice clearly heard, "Jacob Howard Wolowitz, whatever it is you're doing, stop it this instant! No, I don't want to hear your excuses! Don't make me come in here again! I said I don't want to hear it!"

Seeking out Amy's face, Sheldon gave her a small, sad smile. No one was perfect, and he knew better than anyone the force of Amy's temper, but every time he heard Bernadette yell at one of her children, he was so very grateful that Amy usually managed to at least ask Ada why she was doing something instead of leaping to conclusions. A very scientific approach to mothering, he thought.

Bernadette returned to the table and sat down with a huff, and there was an awkward pause when Frannie wiggled off of Leonard's lap and returned to the playroom. Finally, Raj broke it by asking, "So do the kids kill each other or not?"

"Welll -" Leonard started.

"I see someone needs to be concise," Sheldon interrupted, putting up his hand. "The boys crash land on the island and find a conch shell. The boy who finds the conch shell is named Ralph, and he is elected leader because he has the shell. He has a sort of side kick -"

"Frienemy," Amy interjected.

Sheldon's eyebrows dipped as he looked at her. "Whatever. A side kicked nicknamed Piggy because he is overweight. At first, they democratically create plans to keep a signal fire going, procure food, and all the other necessary survival needs. But then another boy named Jack breaks away from the encampment and forms his own group that is based on anarchy and false tribal rituals. He lures others away from Ralph's camp by promising them they will hunt down an imaginary monster -"

"Like _Lost_?" Raj asked.

"Not quite as long and tedious and disappointing in the end," Howard answered.

Pausing first, Sheldon then nodded. "I concur with Howard. This savage group of Jack's decides to steal Piggy's glasses to make their own fire -"

"You're leaving out Simon's vision," Amy interrupted. "It's essential to the book. It's probably the most important element of symbolism, when he sees the pig's head and thinks it's the lord of the flies."

"Hmmmpphhh," Sheldon said.

"Just because you think visions are hogwash doesn't mean you can ignore them within the framework of a novel," Amy said. "It's one conversation to talk about literature in terms of reality, but it's another when you accept the facts as they are presented to you within the novel. You have to accept those facts, sometimes, so that you can fully understand the characters' reactions to them. You have to meet literature within the parameters of its own universe. And which book was it read that you end said something similar?" Her lips twisted. "Oh, yes! -" she snapped her fingers "-  _The Greem Mile!_ "

"Amy's right," Stuart added. "You have to accept Superman is an alien who can fly for the comics to make any sense. And to enjoy them."

"Besides, doesn't Simon have a disease? Epilepsy or something that explains the vision?" Bernadette asked.

"Some literary scholars have postulated that, yes, but it's not explained in the novel," Amy answered. "But that's an excellent point, Bernadette. I didn't know you were so interested in  _Lord of the Flies_."

"I took a class on dystopian literature in undergrad. That's when I read it," she answered.

"Dystopian literature?" Penny asked. "How . . . violent."

Bernadette shrugged. "It interests me."

"Dad, Dad." It was apparently Jacob's turn to interrupt them.

"What?" Howard asked, turning to look at his son.

"Ada is staring at me again!" Jacob said.

Hearing his daughter's name smeared in that way stirred something within Sheldon. "I'm sure it's only because you're - Ouch!"

Amy removed her elbow from Sheldon's ribs. "Don't you say it," Amy hissed. It had been discussed by them before, as they gossiped in the dark before falling asleep, that poor Jacob really had inherited the worst genes from both his parents. He was short for his age with an overly large nose and Howard's unfortunate hair that seemed to have no natural part and always fell into a bowl shape, and he, at age five, was already wearing glasses.

"Is she hurting you?" Howard asked.

"No, but it's annoying!" Jacob protested.

"Ah, son, someday you'll be dying for Ada to look twice at you."

"Howie!" Bernadette said.

"That's probably the truth," Sheldon mumbled while pulling his chair further away from Amy's rapidly approaching elbow. He received her evil eye instead.

"Go back to the playroom and be nice," Howard said, patting Jacob on the back and sending him on his way.

"Okay, so back to  _Lord of the Flies,_ " Raj said. "The kids are marooned on the island and one kid has a vision about a pig's head and they may or may not kill each other. So, what's the point? Like in the  _Hunger Games,_  it's about the depravity of power."

"So is  _Lord of the Flies,_ " Leonard replied. "You know, power corrupts. Also, all of us are really savages, and we will revert back to that if left to our own devices."

"I knew there was a reason I never read it," Penny said.

"Now that I think about it, it's not really appropriate for children, is it?" Stuart asked.

"Is that like saying _Animal Farm_ isn't appropriate for pigs to read?" Howard asked.

Sheldon saw Amy smile at Howard's quip, and he wished that he would have thought of it first. Ugh, George Orwell. "I agree, Stuart. I don't understand why educators would want to give young teenagers violent ideas."

"It's meant to be a tale of warning," Amy said. Bernadette nodded. "You're supposed to identify with Ralph because he refuses to partake in violence and Piggy because he's intellectual and Simon because he's a representation of peace and tranquility. So the reader is supposed to understand that they must work to overcome their inner animal-like traits and adopt the traits of the positively portrayed characters."

"I don't think all children are animals," Sheldon started, "with no innate sense of propriety - What is happening?!" He was interrupted and amazed by the sight of young child streaking through the dining room. Actually streaking, naked as the day she was born.

"Lucy Deborah Wolowitz! Put your clothes back on!" Bernadette screamed, getting up to run after her and disappearing into the playroom again.

First Penny started laughing and then, gradually, everyone joined in. Except Sheldon.

"So, we've been dealing with that lately," Howard said. "Sorry. Every time you turn around, she's taking her clothes off. Bernadette is at the end of her rope about it."

"Fenny went through a naked phase. We ignored it and it went away," Leonard said.

"Yeah," Penny added. "We thought there wasn't any harm in it. So he might grow up to be a hippy."

Sheldon gasped and Amy reached over to take his hand.

"You guys, you're giving Sheldon a heart attack," Raj said. "You just just said there isn't any harm in public nudity and used the word hippy."

"It wasn't public, it was just around the house," Penny said.

"And the worst part wasn't the nudity, it was that he wasn't potty trained yet," Leonard added.

Another gasp from Sheldon. Amy squeezed his hand and let it go just as Bernadette came back, her face dark red and full of thunder.

The topic drifted away from the book, and eventually Sheldon forgot about the nudist camp Leonard and Penny had apparently ran in the past and joined in on the current debate. But as soon has his ears picked up her voice, he stopped speaking to see Ada running toward him. "Dad! Jacob called me Jesus Christ!"

"What?" Amy asked, turning, her brow furrowed.

"Jesus Christ. What does it mean? He said it like a bad word," Ada explained.

"Jesus Christ," Bernadette mumbled.

"Just like that!" Ada pointed.

Flummoxed, Sheldon pulled out his phone.

"Sheldon, what are you doing?" Amy asked.

"Calling my mother. This clearly falls in her purview," he answered.

"Put the phone away!" Amy ordered. He jumped but complied.

"Sweetheart," Amy leaned slightly in her chair, and Ada turned to her, "did Jacob actually call you by the name Jesus Christ or did he only say the words, like Aunt Bernadette just did?"

Leonard snickered.

"He said, 'My Mom says your Mom and Dad treat you like Jesus Christ,'" Ada repeated, employing her matter-of-fact voice that instantly gave everything extra weight.

Sheldon heard Penny giggle, Bernadette cough, and Howard shift in his chair while he stared down at his daughter's hair. Then he said, "That's absurd. Why would we ever treat you like an ancient Jewish man attributed with fictional powers?"

Amy whispered hoarsely, "Sheldon."

It was then that he looked at her and saw a mix of uncertain emotions on her face. Embarrassment? Anger? He wrinkled his brow, now convinced he was missing something here. "Amy, I -"

"Ada, sweetheart," Amy interrupted him. "It's fine. Ignore it. Go back to the playroom. Please."

Their daughter nodded and complied, turning at the last minute to look questioningly at Sheldon. He gave her a small wink of reassurance. A strange silence settled over the table.

"Look, guys, Bernie didn't -" Howard stopped. "I mean - We didn't know he was listening."

"It's fine," Amy said in a tone that clearly implied it was not fine. More uncomfortable silence followed.

"You know, I'm done eating. I'm heading into the fray. Wish me luck," Raj said, standing and going into the playroom, where he was greeted with a chorus of cheers for "Uncle Raj!"

"I think I'll join you," Stuart added, throwing his napkin on the table and getting up. Sheldon raised his eyebrows at this, as it was normally only ever Raj who willingly ventured into the playroom.

"Penny, why don't we clean this up?" Leonard said.

"Aren't we going to stay and wat - Oh, okay," Penny sighed and heaved herself out of the chair to follow Leonard into the kitchen.

After the two couples were left alone at the table, Sheldon couldn't help but notice the awkward tension was growing ever more uneasy. After a moment, Bernadette said, "It was just a little joke, Amy. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Amy repeated.

Suddenly, the clouds cleared. "Oh, I get it," Sheldon said. "We've been accused of treating our child like she's the greatest child in the whole world, perfect in every way. As though we are destined for destruction and she is mankind's only hope for salvation."

"Thank you for crystalizing that," Amy said.

"But she is," Sheldon protested.

"Um, buddy, that's kind of thing that makes Bernie upset," Howard said softly.

"It's hard to tell because the yelling is so loud, but don't you think your children are the greatest things ever?" Sheldon asked, turning his gaze fully upon Bernadette. "I mean, you love them unconditionally, right? And you take care of them not because you have to but because you want to? And I know they make you laugh, Howard always tells the funniest stories. It really is true: kids say the darnest things."

"Of course I love my children," Bernadette shot back, her eyes narrowed and her voice raspy.

"Sheldon, I don't think -" Amy started, but he put his hand on Amy's shoulder.

"No, let me finish. I never doubted that you love your children. We all know how much Leonard and Penny love their children; they can't stop making them. And even Raj and Stuart, listen to them in there, laughing with all their nieces and nephews." He paused so everyone could hear the laughter and then Jacob even yelled, "Raj, you're the best!"

"So what's wrong with that? Is it possible to love your child too much? I don't know. For years, you used to tease me about being a heartless machine, but now it's like I have three hearts. Who wouldn't want that? And not just because it practically makes me the next evolution of a timelord. So, yes, I love Ada like she's going to save me. Just like I love Amy that way, too. Because they already have."

Amy leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek as he heard Penny sniff from behind the swinging door to the kitchen, where she was hiding with Leonard, "Oh my God, that was beautiful."

"Besides, she's clearly a genius," Sheldon added, after throwing Amy a grateful look and taking a long drink of water. "And nobody tell my mother about the illusions to a savior. She'd have me burned at the stake for sacrilege."

"Good ol' Shelly," he heard Leonard's voice say. "The more things change the more things they stay the same."

Rolling his eyes, Sheldon yelled, "Vulcan hearing, remember? Everyone can come out of hiding now. We've got a Book Club to finish."

The Hofstadters reappeared from behind the door and even Stuart peered his head around the edge of the playroom door.

"Come on, it's safe," Bernadette said, nodding to Sheldon.

Every one except Raj sat back down, and then Penny said, "What else is there to say about the book?"

"We haven't even talked about the symbolism of the -" Amy started.

Penny groaned. "No, no symbolism. I'm pulling the 'I'm nine months pregnant' card. I hate symbolism."

"Okay, let's talk about Piggy," Leonard prompted.

"Piggy?" Penny asked.

"Yeah. I always thought he was actual the hero of the book," Leonard explained.

"Only because he was asthmatic and wore glasses," Howard pointed out.

"Not true!" Leonard protested.

"Actually, Piggy serves a vital role," Amy said. "He's supposed to represent the intellectual way of looking at things without giving into emotional responses. He only wants to adhere to the rules. He's scientific, like when he makes that sundial, and rational. It's meant to contrast with Jack's group, who give into their baser, instinctual motives."

"Like a Vulcan," Stuart pointed.

"Well said, my good man," Sheldon added.

There was a loud tumble from the playroom and then Raj rounded the corner, looking dazed and with his hair poking up in odd places. "That's it, I'm out, I can't handle it."

"What was that noise?" Bernadette asked.

"Just the pile of those giant cardboard blocks falling," Raj said, sitting back down. "They are crazy tonight! Like animals! What did you order them for dinner, Penny, straight sugar? And what did I miss?"

Even though Sheldon started to open his mouth, Howard spoke instead. "Bernie apologized and Sheldon decided not to be an asshole to her because it turns out - surprise! - he's a real boy!"

"Cool."

"Also, I said no to symbolism, but Amy tried to sneak the word 'represent' past me," Penny said.

"Oh, you caught that, did you?" Amy said, grinning.

Penny smiled back.

"So, did you like the book? That's all I really want to know before I decide if I should read it," Raj asked.

Just as she turned to look at him, Sheldon turned to look at Amy, curious to see if he could tell from the look in her eyes. Neither of them could take sole credit for choosing the book, as it was a mutual decision after it came up that Sheldon had never read it. He nodded at Amy to go first.

"I'd read it before," she said, turning away from him and back to the group, "in high school, which I think is common." There was a sound of agreement from almost everyone. "I don't remember disliking it then, and the general plot and theme certainly stuck with me; it's a seminal work of literature, really. Before  _The Hunger Games_ came along, it was the go-to phrase one would use to describe an isolated group resorting to baser instincts and behavior. But I found I didn't care for it this time. It's still, unfortunately, a timeless message about man's cruelty and inhumanity to man. But it was just so obvious. The symbolism - Penny, you would have hated this book - was so smothering and showy. Everything seemed to have an additional meaning and it wasn't subtle at all. So, no, I didn't like it."

Sheldon let out a breath. Good. Although he and Amy had certainly disagreed on books before, and Amy had more than once spouted some nonsense about disagreement being a sign of growth and that imperfections made literature perfect, he always preferred it when they had the same opinion. He knew there was no one on Earth he was more compatible with, no one else that would be able to help him survive being stranded on a deserted island, than Amy; and he always found it reassuring to have their compatibly illustrated by all the little things they did together, so seamlessly, so well.

Amy turned and prompted him, "Sheldon?"

"Oh. I didn't care for it either. I didn't hate it, I guess, but I, too, felt it was transparent for lesser minds. That's probably why it's read by adolescents whose frontal lobes aren't fully formed yet."

His wife's face opened into one his favorite smiles, the one she gave when she also felt the strength of their bond, and he saw she was about to say something else when a blood-curdling scream came from the playroom.

Jumping up, his body attuned to that cry even before his mind recognized it, Sheldon raced to the door and put his arms out even before Ada flew into him, sobbing against the leg of his pants. He crouched down to pull her in closer. The others had arrived at the door and a string of words met his ears: "What's happened?" "What's going on?" "It she hurt?"

"Frannie bit Ada!" Fenny explained, pointing a finger and jumping in that excited way small children are to be both the harbingers of bad news and tattletales.

"Frances Florence Hofstadter are you biting again?" "Is she bleeding? "How bad is it?"

Still holding her in his embrace, even though he felt Amy's hand upon his shoulder as she leaned down next to him, Sheldon whispered, "Is this true?"

"Yesssss," Ada sobbed out.

"Here, let us see, sweetheart." Ada backed up slightly and held out her forearm. There was a nasty red oval shape that was sure to leave a bruise, but when Amy took it and turned it in the light she whispered, "No broken skin."

"Shhh, it's okay." Sheldon picked Ada up, holding her, pressing her tear-stained face into his shoulder, as Amy addressed the assembled group, "There is some erythema that will probably result in ecchymosis, but no concern for any blood borne pathogens."

"What's that mean?" Penny leaned closer to Leonard.

"Our daughter is not a vampire," he replied. "Maybe a werewolf, though; it is a full moon or what?"

"Does she need a Band-Aid?" Penny asked.

Sheldon was bout to decline her offer when Ada who raised her head slightly, the sobs suddenly gone. "A Band-Aid?"

"She doesn't need a Band-Aid. There is no broken skin," Sheldon said.

A hearty new wail suddenly emerged from Ada. Her demand for a bandage, it seemed. Sheldon sighed at the unnecessary melodrama. It was beneath his little genius, wasn't it?

"I'll get it," Leonard offered, jogging away from them.

"Mom?" Jacob asked, tapping Bernadette's hip, "Is Ada okay?"

"Yes, she'll be fine. She's just mostly scared, I think," Bernadette said, running her hand though his dark hair.

Leonard was back with two boxes in his hands. "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Disney Princesses?" he asked, smiling at Ada, whose sobs had started to quiet again now that the promised Band-Aids had appeared.

"Jane Austen?" Ada asked, pulling back from Sheldon a bit, the tears miraculously gone.

"No, sweetheart, they don't have Jane Austen bandages here," Amy said softly. Then she turned to the group and added, "Santa put them in her stocking last year and they're her favorite."

"Huh. I didn't know they made Jane Austen Band-Aids," Stuart said softly. "Where do you find them?"

"The nerdiest website Santa can find," Howard replied. Sheldon shoot him a dirty look over Ada's shoulder as Amy applied a pink bandage to her arm.

"See, all better now," Amy soothed.

"No! No!" they heard Frannie yell and they turned to see Leonard bent down, with his hands firmly pressing on her shoulders, marching her forward.

"Yes, you will," he said.

"No!" But then Leonard bent down further and pulled Frannie's head toward him, his mouth very close to her ear. Sheldon could not hear what he said, even with his superhuman auditory gifts, but the deep tone of anger resonated nonetheless. Frannie started to cry. It appeared there were rules in this hippy commune they are running, after all.

Then Frannie blubbered out "Sorry" before she dove across the room into Penny's skirt.

Leonard stood and shrugged at Sheldon. "Sorry. Apologizing seems to be the worse possible punishment for her. We thought this phase was done."

Sheldon nodded at him. "These things happen."

A look of surprise briefly crossed Leonard's face, but then he smiled. A few months ago, there had been fight about their respective parenting styles, but then, the day after a certain Book Club, Sheldon had gone to Leonard's lab and there had been a long conversation, the type they probably would never have had years ago as roommates. And just as he had learned more than once with Amy, they had grown stronger from this disagreement, and Sheldon knew that his friendship with Leonard would never fade away.

Ada squirmed in his arms, and Sheldon started to lower her back to the floor. "No," she said, throwing her arms tightly around his neck. "I want to go home."

Amy's eyes met his and the sort of silent conversation they had perfected took place. The type in which Amy nodded, Sheldon paused in futile protest, and then shrugged with his inevitable acquiescence to her idea. "Okay, we'll leave," he said softly. Then louder, "Sorry, but we're headed out. I know it's early, but it seems a bit savage here tonight."

There was a small chuckle in the room as everyone filtered back to the dining room. Jackets were retrieved, good-byes were exchanged, Ada showed her Band-Aid off proudly to Jacob, and then Amy took her hand to lead them out, waving as they went.

Amy said over her shoulder, "Next week at our house as I'm sure we'll have a new member to our tribe by then - Oh, look, Lucy's naked again."

"Lucy! I can't take you anywhere!" Bernadette's voice faded behind them as they left her to deal with the newest crisis of the evening.

As Sheldon was shutting the door to Leonard and Penny's house behind him, he heard Howard's voice yelling, "The next one of you to get in trouble has to go live with Uncle Sheldon! Forever!"

On the stoop, Sheldon paused and dipped his eyebrows just a tiny bit, just for a second. Whatever did Howard mean by that? He was a delight to live with and any of those children would only benefit from his constant presence in their homes. He shook his head in confusion and hurried after his ladies to the car.


	95. Birds and Bees

**Birds and Bees**

* * *

_"I think you look beautiful, Penny. Like Mother Earth," Amy cooed. Sheldon snorted. She looked liked the ghost of a beached whale. "Are you sure you're up to this?" Amy continued._

_Their blonde friend reached down to rub her rounded frame as they walked to the dining room. "Sure. I feel great. And I'm beyond ready. We've been on hiatus for three weeks now, and I just feel like I'm spending all my time waiting. Although, not for long. If I don't go on my own this weekend, the doctor said we'd induce Monday."_

* * *

Having reached the next to last paragraph in the chapter, Sheldon took a breath.

"Dad?" Ada suddenly asked, leaning against his shoulder in her bed. "I have a question."

"Yes?" He looked down at her, debating if this was a time he should talk to her about how rude it was to interrupt people. Sometimes, too often, on Friday nights, she allowed the immaturity of the other children to rub off on her and they returned home from Leonard and Penny's with someone other than their  _homo novus_. And this week, especially, it had been near chaos in the playroom, as the newly placed Jane Austen bandage on her arm testified. However, if she had a question about the book - or science, of course - it behooved him to broker her curiosity.

"Where do babies come from?"

Sheldon dropped the book with a gasp. "What?"

Ada looked up at him. "Where do babies come from?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . " Just at that moment he heard the sound of Amy's steps and he called out loudly, "Amy! Amy!"

The footfalls became a jog and Amy's face, her brow already deeply furrowed, appeared at the bedroom door. "What's wrong?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . " He pointed helplessly toward . . . nothing, really.

"Mom, where do babies come from? I think Dad doesn't know."

The last sentence struck Sheldon like a slap, and he blinked out of his trance and looked back down at his daughter. "Ada, I assure you I most certainly have experien -"

"Shh, Sheldon," Amy said quickly. He looked back at her as she approached the bed, how her face had shifted from a furrow to a twinkle in her eyes and the obvious biting of her lips. She brushed her hand against the bottom of his legs, and he moved them so she could sit on the edge of the bed. "Ada, where do  _you_  think babies come from?"

"Jacob says Aunt Penny has a baby growing in her stomach," she said.

"Ah, I see. Well, yes, Aunt Penny is growing a baby in her body. That's where babies come from, the mother works very hard for nine months to grow the baby," Amy said with a calmness and smoothness Sheldon envied. He knew he was staring at her, and he didn't care.

"In her stomach? With the food?" Ada asked.

Amy smiled. "No, not in her stomach. Remember when you learned about some of the organs in your body from your puzzle, like your stomach?" Amy touched her abdomen. "And your heart that beats and pushes the blood around?" She touched her chest. Ada nodded. "Mommies have another organ, a very special organ, where the baby grows. It's called the uterus."

"Girls have them but not boys?" Ada asked. "Like private parts?"

Sheldon wished he had another book to drop. When had that conversation happened? Frantically searched his memory, he realized that conversation must have occurred outside of his presence. He kept staring at Amy, so clearly in control of this situation, suddenly so overwhelmingly grateful to her that she had undoubtedly arranged it that way.

"Exactly," Amy said simply and, for the first time since sitting on the edge of the bed, flicked her eyes up to Sheldon's.

"Oh. Okay." He felt Ada shrug next to him, but he kept looking in awe at his brilliant, prepared, enlightened, and not the least embarrassed wife.

"Dad? Dad?" He shuddered back to the tugging on his tee shirt sleeve. "Keep reading."

"Oh, yes," he said, ignoring Amy's chuckle as she got up and walked away.

A few minutes later - and not a second too soon - Sheldon was able to extricate himself from the hothouse that was Ada's bedroom and run to the great room. Amy was in the dining area, standing at the table, folding laundry. He slipped his arms around her waist, leaning in close, squeezing her tight. "You're a genius, you know that?"

"That's why you married me," Amy said.

"That was so - so - well, brilliant doesn't seem to cover it," he said into her hair.

"Astute? Perceptive? Masterly? Nimble?" she replied, putting one of his tee shirts on the top of a very straight stack. Painfully straight, and she stopped to readjust it. Sheldon took a second to feel loved at how well she knew him.

"Mmmmm," Sheldon kissed her temple, just below the ear piece of her glasses, "you know how I love all of those things."

"Later." Chuckling, Amy pushed him away gently as she rotated in his arms. "Seriously, Sheldon, you cannot act that way when she asks you something uncomfortable. Don't act like it's dirty or taboo."

"But it is taboo to a three year old! And for, what?, the next thirty years or so?" Sheldon backed away further.

Amy smiled softly. "I mean that if you act that way, it only gives it power, making it seem tantalizing and mysterious."

"Expound," Sheldon said, crossing his arms.

"Well, hmm, it's like in all those gothic romances. You know, 'you can go anywhere but the east wing.' And where does the heroine invariably run the first chance she gets? Straight to the east wing." Her eyes brightened. "Like in all the Harry Potter's: don't go to the Forbidden Forest, don't go to the Shrieking Shack or Knockturn Alley. And they all end up there sooner than they should."

Sheldon tilted his head and considered the validity of her explanation. "What should I say? You've obviously been discussing procreation with her."

"No, not procreation. That was a first." Amy turned her hands out slightly. "But I answer questions when she asks. And I purposely bring up topics like modesty and privacy. What things she should discuss with us." Amy shrugged. "Just answer her question. It may be hard, but she isn't looking for and doesn't need a highly detailed scientific lecture right now. It might be helpful to ask what she thinks; that will give you a big clue to what type of answer she wants. Just calmly and simply answer her exact question, I guess. Don't worry about extraneous information right now."

Overcome with a feeling of indebtedness, Sheldon reached for her face and held her cheeks beneath his palms. "You're the wisest person I've ever met." He kissed her softly. "And, yes, that's exactly why I married you."

* * *

"Oh, look, Ada," Amy said, as she scanned her Facebook feed a few nights later, "Aunt Penny added new pictures of baby Fox."

She ignored the half-strangled noise Sheldon made every time the baby's name came up in conversation. ("Fox, like the animal?" he had groused. "Actually, Penny said Leonard picked it. I think it's after Fox Mulder. I thought you'd approve of such a source," Amy had replied with a smirk. "Hhmmpph," was his only reply.) Ada leaned over her lap as Amy tilted the iPad to show her the pictures. "Isn't he cute?"

"When do I get to see him?" Ada asked.

"Probably in a couple of weeks. Penny is very tired. She needs time at home with Uncle Leonard and Fenny and Frannie first. Everyone else is coming here Friday night for dinner to give them time alone. You'll like that," Amy explained. What she did not say was that she was going to Penny's, alone, tomorrow evening to share in the ritual of telling birth stories and to take great lungfuls of Fox's new baby scent and to allow herself some misgivings. Until she returned home to Ada and Sheldon, deep in the midst of some blithe activity; they would welcome her with matching silly grins, and any possible regrets she may have had would evaporate in an instant of love.

"Mom, how did the baby get out of Penny's uterus?" Ada asked.

"That's an excellent question, Ada. I think your father would love to tell you," Amy said, looking over the top of Ada head, to Sheldon pretending to flip through a comic book on the other end of the sofa, even though she was certain he was attuned to every word of their conversation. She saw his eyebrows dart up alarmingly high and then a huge, audible swallow.

"Dad?" Ada asked, turning and squirming closer to him.

"Uh, well, yes, that's an excellent question," Sheldon said, licking his lips. Amy smiled as he slowly lowered his comic book. Well, at least he'd managed a complete sentence. And he hadn't dropped anything yet. "Uh -" his eyes flicked up to her and she nodded quickly "- oh, yes, how do you think it happens?"

"Jacob says the mommy goes the hospital and comes home with a baby," Ada said.

"Oh. Yes. That's it. Precisely. The mommy goes the hospital and comes home with a baby," Sheldon said quickly, too quickly, and turned back to his book.

Before Amy could even start to clear her throat, Ada asked, "But how? What happens at the hospital?"

There was a mumble of something and then Sheldon turned back to his daughter. "Uh . . . the mommy goes to the hospital - and the daddy, too - and, uh, they're in a hospital room and . . . um . . . there's a doctor there . . . and, uh, the mommy lays down . . . oh! the doctor helps the mommy get the baby out!" He let out a deep breath and Amy bite her lip.

"Like an operation?"

"Sometimes. And sometimes . . . uh, well, it's a very complex medical process, really, a lot things happen at once. Medical doctors go to school for many years to learn how to do it. It's very . . . overwhelming," Sheldon explained.

"Oh, okay," Ada said and then turned back to Amy. "Are there more pictures of Fox?"

Amy looked over at Sheldon and give him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. It wasn't perfect, of course, but his answer contained only truths and it seemed to satisfy Ada for now.

"Listen, Ada," Amy ran her hand along her daughter's shimmering hair. "Mom and Dad are very happy you're such good friends with Jacob and that you enjoy talking to him. But remember when we talked about privacy?" Ada nodded, looking at her seriously. "Well, questions about your body are private questions, just as your body is private. Unless it's an emergency - do you remember what that is?"

"When you need help from an adult right away."

"Exactly. So, unless it's an emergency, you should talk to only Mom or Dad or your doctor about your body, okay?"

"But it's not my body!" Ada said.

Amy fought her frown away. How could their three-year-old be so logical at the worst times? "Well, no, it's not. But," Amy took a deep breath, "when a mommy and daddy decide to have a baby, that's a personal decision. And the growing of the baby and having the baby at the hospital, those are all private things."

"Okay. I'll remember," Ada said and then she tilted over the iPad again, pointing, "What's that?"

Smiling, Amy allowed the conversation to return to safer ground.

Later, crawling into to bed next to Sheldon, she said, "I was very pleased with your response to Ada tonight."

Sheldon sighed deeply as Amy turned off her lamp and snuggled up closer to him. "You were much better than me."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Amy smiled in the dark. "I admit she threw me for a loop when she correctly pointed out it wasn't her body we were discussing."

"You didn't act like it," Sheldon rolled on his side and wrapped his arm around her.

"Perhaps that's the secret. You just need to act confident, regardless of your inner confusion. Maybe that's the secret to all of parenting."

"Hmmphh," Sheldon murmured. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard since baby Fox."

Chuckling into his chest, Amy said, "Yes, but just like baby Fox, you can't change it."

* * *

"It's for me!" Ada yelled, waving the red envelope in the air. They had all just returned home, and Ada had, as usual, had been given the job of holding the mail on the way up in the elevator.

"Oh, is it another card from Grandmother Fowler?" Amy asked, stepping away from the closet to look over Ada's shoulder. Her mother sent Ada a card for each and every holiday for as long as she'd been alive. Of course, Ada knew her name in print and always got so excited to open them. But it was only early December, earlier than she usually sent the Christmas card.

"No, look, Ada, it's for all of us. See?" Amy put her finger on the envelope. "Sheldon, Amy,  _and_  Ada Cooper. And look at the stamp. Do you know who that man is? That's King Charles of Britain. That means this card is from from Britain."

"I wanted it to be for me," Ada sounded disappointed.

Amy pulled out a dining chair and sat down, pulling Ada up on her lap. "It's okay, you're correct that it ends with your name. And it is for you, just with Mom and Dad, too. We'll share it. Go ahead and open it."

As Ada opened the envelope, Sheldon came to stand next to them, peering over Amy's shoulder. It took longer than it should have, a combination of Ada's smaller hands and her inherited factitious need to not tear the envelope. Finally, a card was revealed with a picture of Faisal and Oliver and their new little girl, Yasmine, in one of the pods of the London Eye, the city behind and below them.

Smiling broadly, Amy said, "A Christmas card. Our first of the year. 'Wishing you a season of blessings and love,'" she read. "You know who they are."

"Faisal and Oliver and Yasmine," Ada said. "What's a blessing?"

"A blessing is a very, very good thing that happens and makes you incredibly happy. Faisal and Oliver are blessed to have Yasmine now. They waited a long time for her," Amy said. Kissing the top of her own daughter's head, Amy remembered all the emails from Faisal about their long and onerous adoption process. But five months earlier, they were matched with beautiful five year old Yasmine and they had traveled to Syria, that in itself a difficult journey, to bring her home. "After dinner, we'll punch a hole in it and hang it on the Christmas tree together, okay? Right now, let's get your jacket off."

The evening fell into its normal routine with Ada playing and Sheldon working at his white board until Amy called them to the table for dinner. It occurred to Amy that Ada seemed quieter than usual, but Sheldon was telling a lengthy story, so maybe that was the cause.

Having just said something in reply to the end of Sheldon's story, Amy was about to add an additional comment when Ada suddenly said, "How did Faisal and Oliver get a baby?"

"They didn't get a baby, you know that. Yasmine is five. They adopted her from an orphanage for children whose parents had died," Amy said.

"So Yasmine had a mommy?"

"Yes, of course." Amy did frown, then, hoping she was't going to have to explain the politics of the Middle East to her three-year-old.

"Owen has two mommies," Ada said, referencing one of her classmates.

Sheldon squirmed in his seat, but Amy ignored him. "Yes, he does. Sometimes two women or two men fall in love and get married. Or live together. Like Uncle Raj and Stuart."

Ada nodded and stirred her sweet potato soup, but in an absent minded manner. Amy watched her for a second, and then turned toward Sheldon, "Did you -"

"Which mommy did Owen grow inside of?" Ada asked.

Raising her eyebrows, Amy turned. "I don't know. It does't matter, because they both love him. Besides, that's a very private question. Remember when we talked about having a baby is a private thing?"

"But Raj and Stuart won't have a baby, because they're daddies, right?"

"Um, well, not exactly. If Raj and Stuart ever decide they want a baby, they might get a baby or even a child like Faisal and Oliver did, a child whose mommy and daddy can't take care of it for some reason. Or," Amy took a deep breath, "they might make an arrangement for a mommy to grow the baby for them. But, again, that's a very private decision for Raj and Stuart and you should not be asking them about it. It would be rude."

"So a mommy moves in with them?" Ada asked.

"No, the mommy lives in her own house." Sheldon squirmed louder and Amy wished she could join him. "Then, after the baby is born at the hospital, the baby lives with the two daddies and the mommy doesn't. Usually, though, the mommy remains friends with the daddies and the daddies send pictures to the mommy about the baby as it grows up."

"Oh." Another contemplative stir of the soup. Then another. "How does the baby get inside the mommy?"

Sheldon dropped his spoon. Amy took a deep breath. Fortunately, she had known that question would only be a matter of time and she was prepared. Sort of. She hadn't factored in homosexual parentings. "When a man and a woman decide they want a baby, there is a very special, very private hug they do. The daddy has half a baby seed and the mommy has half and the two halves come together from the special hug and the baby starts to grow."

Holding her breath, Amy watched Ada's face carefully as she absorbed this new information. "It's a private hug for adults?" Ada asked.

"Yes, exactly. Very old, very mature adults. Exceedingly private," Sheldon said too loudly, having retrieved his spoon and holding it up to make his point.

"And you and Dad did the hug to make me?" Ada asked.

Over the clatter of Sheldon's spoon falling again, Amy smiled and said, "Yes, we did."

"So Raj or Stuart would have to give a mommy the special hug?"

Amy shook her head, "No. A doctor can also take the daddy's seed out and put it with the mommy's seed. Um," Amy took a breath, "it's a very complex medical procedure."

Shaking her head, Ada buried her spoon in her soup. "It sounds too complicated," she sighed.

Unable to help it, Amy burst out into peels of laughter.

* * *

He pulled her hair from her shoulder and rested his head there. "I feel the need to create a new word to fully describe your excellence and acumen in childrearing."

Amy smiled, looking up from her Kindle. "You'd better make it good. Lots of syllables. Almost impossible to properly pronounce."

"Only the best for you," Sheldon whispered, pulling the edge of her nightgown away to kiss her neck.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked, although she knew full well, having seen his naked form out of the corner her eye as he got into bed.

"I heard a rumor about an exceedingly private and very special hug I thought we'd give a try," he whispered, reaching to unhook the top button of her night gown.

Chuckling, Amy shut her Kindle, took off her glasses, and set them both on her end table. "I've heard it's complicated."

"It's a good thing you're so brilliant." Another button. "Astute." Another button. "Perceptive," he whispered in her ear just before his mouth surrounded her ear lobe. "Nimble." Amy took in a deep breath as his hand slipped down her chest to toy with her breast. "Oh, wait, that's me."

Turning her head, Amy met his lips.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

**_And, for those of you who asked last week, yes, Jane Austen bandages are real, and you can find them at gonereading .com; just search for Jane Austen bandages. Enjoy!_ **


	96. Mosaic

**_Thank you the incomparable YlvaBorealis for this book suggestion. And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2022**

**Primary Topic: _Mosaic (Star Trek: Voyager)_  by Jeri Taylor**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: the _Hercule Poirot_ mysteries by Agatha Christie**

* * *

It all started with the Lands' End catalogue. Amy wasn't sure how she first got on their mailing list, but she was pleasantly surprised by their offerings. Not only a wide variety of cardigans for her, but a system of coordinating clothing for young girls that she believed would solve all of their morning woes. And, indeed, it mostly did. Every Sunday, Amy would pick out Ada's clothes for the week, including Ada in the process. Despite that joint effort, Ada had started to change her mind on a whim and the resulting upheaval disrupted everyone's schedule.

But now, if Ada no longer cared for the purple dress with purple leggings that Amy had selected, Amy could at least have some peace in the knowledge that the pink leggings with green stars that she insisted on in the morning in question matched in color; the flower on the dress was the same shade of pink and the leaves the same shade of green. Even Sheldon, for reasons Amy could never fully fathom, occasionally changed the plan. But if he felt yellow leggings were a better fit, because it looked more like something a super hero would wear or whatever his excuse was, at least the yellow leggings were the same shade of yellow that was being used for highlights on the flower.

One day, Ada was flipping through the newest catalogue in the noisy and, Amy thought, distracted way of children, when she pointed to a shirt and said she wanted it. Surprised by Ada's new notion, Amy quickly turned it into a teaching moment about the pitfalls of materialism. Because that's what she did.

However, Ada was the daughter of two very persistent people. She was fixated on this navy blue polo shirt with white anchors on it. Amy was baffled. Why that shirt? She had never had a polo shirt before. Neither Amy or Sheldon wore them. And anchors? Why the fascination? But Amy had promised herself that she would let her daughter choose her own clothes as long as they were age and weather appropriate; she had spent her childhood hating the clothes her mother made her wear. So, for Christmas, Ada received the polo and, because leggings are not pants and it was winter even in California, a navy skirt and new white tights.

Penny had laughed at the whole story, and, almost before Amy could ask what was so funny, Penny presented Ada with a white pleated skort ("See, Amy, she doesn't need legging with this; the shorts underneath will keep her modest.") and a sailor hat. Wrinkling her brow for only a second, Amy quickly reminded Ada of the ongoing teaching moment about saying thank you and being grateful for gifts. Not that she needed reminded; it was obvious that Ada was over the moon with the gift from her Aunt Penny.

That was an understatement. Suddenly, the coordinating clothing system was inadequate in Ada's eyes. She wanted to wear this outfit everyday. New arguments emerged about clean versus dirty clothing. Amy, ever the teacher, even attempted to walk her daughter through the laundry process. Most bizarre of all in Amy's eyes was the sailor hat. Ada wouldn't leave the house without it. She demanded on wearing it everywhere.

"I just don't understand!" Amy fumed, crawling into bed next to Sheldon.

"Mmmmm," he murmured behind his Kindle.

"We're not yacht people! We're not preppies! We're not from New England!"

"Mmmmmm."

"And the hat! I hate that hat!"

Finally, Sheldon put down his book with a very large sigh. "What difference does it make? You said you would let her wear what she wanted as long as it was modest."

"The whole outfit looks like a costume. Like she's dressing up as a sailor for Halloween!" Amy threw her hands up, trying to convey how obviously wrong it all was.

"So?"

"So? It's January!"

"So?"

"Not everything requires a costume, Sheldon. I know you love your super heroes, but this is real life. One cannot wear a costume daily and be taken seriously. It's inappropriate."

"As an adult. It may be unfair, but it's true. However, Ada is not an adult. As you never tire of telling me, she's just a child and thus we cannot expect adult standards from her. I don't see the problem."

Amy flopped back against the padded headboard. "I cannot believe you're taking her side."

"Taking her side?" Sheldon shifted so he was facing her, his brows dipping behind his glasses. "Is there even a side to take? You're being a bit melodramatic about the whole thing, don't you think?"

Amy opened her mouth and shut it. She crossed her arms and stared in front of her. How very like Sheldon! His little  _homo novus_ couldn't do anything wrong in his eyes, so of course he would take her side. And, yes, there were clearly sides! How dare he call her melodramatic! They were supposed to be parenting together, presenting a united front! And melodramatic! He probably only knew that word because of Book Club, which had been her idea in the first place and -

"Oh," she said suddenly, uncrossing her arms.

"Yes?" Sheldon asked.

"It's Book Club Night."

"I know."

Amy turned to him. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

Sheldon shrugged. "I was waiting for you to calm down and come to that realization on your own. But you've been in a tizzy all evening, ever since the aforementioned hat fell into Ada's lasagna at dinner."

"But you saw the tantrum she threw when I told her that it needed washed before she could wear it again! I thought you were also upset by that. She'll be four tomorrow, not two!" Amy voice raised again.

Taking her hand, Sheldon said softly, "I did hate the tantrum. I agree that it was behavior unbecoming of her age and obvious intelligence. If you recall it was me that sent her to her room." He took a deep breath. "But your tantrum has me baffled."

"My tantrum!" Amy snatched her hand away. How dare he! That hat was ridiculous, and she just couldn't believe that he was -

"It's just a hat, Amy," he said softly. How dare his voice be soft and gentle at a moment like this! "Perhaps if you could explain your objections to me more clearly." And all rational and calm! She could not believe the gall he had to be calm! "If it's about the germs and bacteria found on the surfaces of dirty clothing, I could prepare a visual presentation of those organisms and explain the need for proper hot water temperatures throughout the laundry process." How dare he bring up science at a time like this! "It is my understanding that a mother-daughter relationship will go through phases of various power struggles. I witnessed this many times between my mother and sister. And I've heard your stories of your own power struggles with your mother."

"Don't you dare compare me to my mother!" Amy snapped.

Sheldon put his hands up. "I didn't." Then he bit his lip and added in a rush, "But I think I've hit a nerve, haven't I?"

Amy let out a squeak and then turned her face away from him. Was he correct? Was this just the opening salvo in what would turn into a combative and unhappy relationship?

"Amy," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it."

"Do you really think that?" Amy turned back. "Am I acting like my mother?"

"No, no, no." Sheldon reached for her face and she let him take it, feeling a tear fall. "You're far too vocal and passionate about it to be acting like your mother. I just meant - I'm sorry, I always get this sort of thing wrong - that you need to pick your battles. So as to not fall into the mother-daughter trap."

"Oh, Sheldon, I'm so sorry," Amy leaned into his shoulder and allowed herself to cry there for a bit while Sheldon stroked her hair. Not even sobbing, just the wet hiccups of frustration.

After a few minutes, Sheldon pulled her away, "Shh, no more tears. It's just a hat. And I'm sorry I said you were having a tantrum."

Amy chuckled in spite of herself, and reached up to rub a tear away. "You're right. About both things. Maybe I'm just stressed about the birthday party this weekend. I should have never agreed to allow Mother to help. Hand me a Kleenex."

Taking the offered tissue, Amy blew her nose. And then chuckled again when Sheldon handed her the small bottle of Purell he kept in his nightstand drawer. As she rubbing her hands, Sheldon said, "And weren't you worried that she is becoming too serious and stoic? Stoic people do not have tantrums at the dinner table over sailor hats."

With a deep exhale, Amy said, "You're right. It's just a phase. We shouldn't engage her even with our reactions."

Sheldon smiled. "Enough about that. Book Club? I've been waiting all month!"

Amy settled back with one shoulder against the headboard and smiled herself. Sheldon's enthusiasm was the balm she needed. And he was right, it was just a hat. "Because it's a  _Star Trek_  book?"

"You really are glorious, you know that?" he replied, leaning into the headboard himself.

"And all it took was a  _Star Trek_  book!" Amy reached out for his hand. "We said we were expanding our Book Club horizons. You've read so many classics for me, I decided it was time for a mainstream science fiction novel about something that you love."

"I've enjoyed the classics."

"But you loved this?"

"Of course!" She smiled at Sheldon's unabashed, childish joy. While she had no doubt he loved Book Club, it was so rare they read something for which he could not contain his excitement. "Didn't you?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd use the word love," Amy said guardedly. "But I did enjoy it more than I anticipated. I was really caught up in the story. Of course, it's helpful that it's an easy read; but I found the predicament that the crew was findings themselves in - with the mysterious planet and the Kazon pursuing them - quite interesting and suspenseful."

"Hmm, that surprises me," Sheldon said.

"Why? It's the principal action of the book."

"I thought you had picked this book because of the flashbacks into Janeway's childhood. You know, another intelligent, precocious, and headstrong female?"

Amy chuckled. "Okay, you caught me. It is why I picked this particular _Star Trek_  book. I looked up a list of what are generally considered the best  _Star Trek_ novels, and the idea of learning more about Janeway's past intrigued me. But that doesn't mean I couldn't appreciate the action sequences, either."

"And, like all good episodes of  _Star Trek_ , the solution was scientific."

"Indeed." Amy paused. "What was your favorite part?"

"Tuvok, of course. His calm leadership, his rational mind. I liked that we learned how he and Janeway met."

So like Sheldon to pick the Vulcun. So like Sheldon to try and channel his inner Vulcan when he was saying something he knew she wouldn't like to hear. Amy said, "He's a foil here, especially. A foil to Kim's nativé, a foil to Neelix's overeagerness, and a voice reason to Janeway's, yes, headstrong overreactions."

"Every good Vulcan needs a foil. A complement," Sheldon whispered and squeezed her hand. Amy smiled. She deserved that, for her own headstrong overreaction earlier. And Ada's, too. Perhaps they were more alike than she realized, as she was so accustomed to seeing Ada and Sheldon reflecting off of each other.

"Was Janeway's childhood and adolescence what you thought it would be?" she asked.

Sheldon tilted his head for a minute. "I don't know. I guess that other than the few clues we received from the series itself, I never thought about it."

"Really? You were never curious?" Amy wrinkled her brow.

"I should have thought you would have liked the blank slate and open mind I brought to this book."

"I do. But, really? Isn't that like not wondering what Ada will grow up to be like?"

Shaking his head, Sheldon said, "No. It's the exact opposite."

"I'm not talking about the timeline, I'm talking about the concept," Amy explained. When Sheldon didn't answer, she continued, "Of course, there are a lot of nature versus nurture arguments to be made, but when you meet an adult, they did not spring full formed that way. They were someone else once. Not just smaller and younger, but someone who is still assimilating -" Sheldon smiled at the word choice "- all the events of their life to form their personality."

He sighed. "Yes, I suppose. Ada will be a genius, of course. A great scientist."

Ignoring the most obvious part of his statement, Amy said, "She could turn out to take a different career path altogether, you know, -"

"Hmmmphhh."

"- and you'll love her and be thrilled, regardless." She paused and looked around. "I wish I had my Kindle, there's a line I highlighted for you."

Swiveling, Sheldon reached over to his night stand and held her Kindle out for her. "I knew you'd remember eventually," he murmured by way of explanation.

Smiling that he knew her so well, Amy took her book and quickly located the quote she desired. "'How could you think I wasn't proud of you? How could you imagine it?' 'You never told me,' she said simply, and saw his face crumple -'"

"'- But I swear to you, I thought of you every day, every hour, missing you so much it was like physical pain,'" Sheldon interrupted her, looking down at his lap.

Putting her hand under his chin, making him look up, Amy looked at his beautiful blue eyes behind his glasses. "My point is actually the next sentence, Sheldon. 'And it seemed as if you were flourishing.'" Her husband looked at her seriously for a moment. "Ada will flourish, that's the point. Whatever it is that she does, she will flourish."

"What if she's hours and miles away, and I'm missing her so much it's like physical pain?" Sheldon asked. "How will I tell her I love her and I'm proud of her? Because I promise I will."

The breath she had been holding escaped. "The hours and the miles are not so much anymore. By twenty years in the future, they will be almost nothing. I have no doubt my two brainiacs will find a way to interact. Your words will be heard. Sometimes, you know, they aren't the words, exactly. Every time you sit at the table with her and draw shapes, you're saying it. There will be a moment, and she'll look at you, and you'll know that she knows. And I never doubt for a second, and never meant to imply that you wouldn't, that you'll find a way to tell her."

He smiled back at her. "I'm going to allow your romanticism tonight because you've had a rough evening."

Amy threw her head back and laughed, dropping her hand. "Okay, point taken. No more schmaltziness. What was your favorite part of Janeway's flashbacks?"

"'But the reward for her patience and stillness would be worth it: she and Daddy would do their games. She intended to surprise Daddy by knowing every single thing today - and even more.'"

Leaning into his chest, encouraging him to wrap his arms around her, Amy said, "Now who's being sentimental?"

Sheldon's fingers came up to brush through her hair. "Wasn't that point of the flashbacks, though, sentimentality?"

"Mmmm, I didn't think so. There was that mystery about her recurring dream," Amy snuggled in closer to hear his heart beat through his pajama top. Then she frowned. "But I didn't like that."

"Because of what the dream meant? The repressed memory?"

"Yes, the repressed memory. It was all too . . easy. Repressed memories coming back to someone at just the right moment to save the day is an overused cliché. Janeway is such a strong woman. I just can't believe she wouldn't have worked through the tragedy at the time." Amy sighed. "Although I guess it could be that tragedy that made her strong. Psychology isn't my forte."

"Thank goodness." Amy enjoyed hearing the throaty rumble of disdain in his chest. "I thought you would have marked all those passages about motherhood. 'There, on her mother's lap, she was safe from the world; tears were dried, feelings were soothed, anxieties calmed.'"

Amy smiled. "Do you think that's how Ada feels?"

"Of course. Why do you doubt it?"

"Because she's such a Daddy's girl."

"Not when she's sick or sad or injured. She only wants you, to be comforted by you."

Remembering the last Book Club Night, Amy said, "Not when Frannie bit her, remember?"

"Only because my legs are longer, and I got there first. She insisted on a new, appropriate bandage that you bought her and cuddles on the couch with you when we got home."

That was true. They had gotten home early, and Amy had decided to go ahead and give Ada her bath, and complied when Ada requested a "real Band-Aid," by which she meant one of her Jane Austen ones, one that Amy had selected under the guise of Santa Claus. Then they had cuddled on the couch and watched  _Reading Rainbow_  together. The injury was minor, but rather than point it out, Amy allowed Ada curl up in her lap like a much smaller child. By the time Sheldon put her to bed, she was right as rain again, and challenging Sheldon with the question he never wanted to be asked. Amy chuckled at the memory.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking about last Book Club Night."

Sheldon shook his head above her. "Those kids!" After a pause, he said, "You never said if you liked the book."

"Yes, I did." Amy shifted to look up at his profile. "I do not believe your memory is failing you now."

"No, of course not. You said, and I quote, 'But I did enjoy it more than I anticipated.' That a statement of comparison. Any two objects, even horrible objects, can be compared. For example: which would you rather eat for dinner, kale or collard greens? There's an expression for that: the lesser of two evils."

"Perhaps you're right."

"I know I am."

Rolling her eyes because Sheldon couldn't see her at this angle, Amy said, "I liked this book. As I did say earlier, I liked the suspense of the current predicament for the captain and her crew. It was an easy read which I need because of my current work, it kept my interest, I enjoyed the insight into Janeway's past, all the characterizations were on point, but I didn't like the ending."

"Why not?"

"It was too sudden, too abrupt. And actually too simple. Once Janeway had the idea - which I liked because, as you said, it was scientifically based - then the next sentence was basically 'it worked and they flew off again.'" Sheldon gave his little sound of amusement, louder because she was close to him. "Didn't you think so?"

"And what happened to Trakis? Did you notice that?" Sheldon added. "One second he's on the bridge, and Janeway is threatening to send him to quarters but saying she won't because she needed his knowledge and then, poof!, he was gone."

Amy pulled away from him. "You're right! No, don't say it. You always are."

Sheldon grinned and put his hands up in a hopeless gesture.

"You know what I especially didn't like about this abrupt end?"

"What?"

"We didn't get an almost-end."

"An almost-end?" Sheldon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, you know, the almost-end. It's my favorite part of any story. But here there was only a quick end, not an almost-end." Sheldon was still staring at her. "You know that scene in every Hercule Poirot mystery when all the suspects are gathered in one room, and Poirot denounces the criminal and explains how and why they did it?"

Sheldon nodded. "The climax? That's the almost-end?"

"No, I wasn't done. Yes, that's the climax. But right after the climax, after the major action, there's the falling action, right? In a Poirot mystery it's when he explains to Hastings or Japp how he solved it. All the clues come together, it all becomes crystal clear. There's not any danger, but it's when you understand where it's all been heading. There's usually drinking tea or something else warm and soothing, and it's placid but important. When it's done well, it's quite clever. Because it's so calm you may not realize how consequential it is, maybe more important than the climax." She realized she was waving an arm in an effort to make her point and dropped it to her lap. "There was no falling action here. Just climax and then - bam! - resolution in almost a single paragraph, when they all fly away."

"Hmmmm. As much as I love your ardent plea and description, I'm not so sure all that's necessary. Why not just a resolution? Real life doesn't have an almost-end."

"It could." Amy shrugged. "Maybe they all do. But you won't know it's the almost-end until you're at the actual end. No great narrator swoops in and tells you ahead of time."

He blinked twice very slowly and then reached for her hand. "Can we go back to talking about that stupid hat? I understood that."

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy reached for his face and pulled it in sharply, giving him a huge, wet kiss on his lips. "I thought you were allowing my romanticism tonight."

"I said I loved your ardent plea. Ardent is pretty passionate. In fact, I'm fairly certain they're synonyms." He leaned in and gave her his own kiss, something lighter.

"No, not exactly. Ardent is having intense feeling. Passionate is being compelled by that intense feeling. It's a stronger word," she breathed into his lips, kissing them softly.

"Maybe that's because it also means easily aroused by sexual desire," Sheldon said, moving his face to nibble on her neck, his hands tugging on her nightgown, trying to pull it up, which was impossible as she sitting on it.

"Should I take this off? After all, it's Book Club Night," Amy exhaled deeply as his nose brushed her cheek.

"Woman, I thought you'd never notice."


	97. The Almost-End

**The Almost-End**

* * *

_"The hours and the miles are not so much anymore. By twenty years in the future, they will be almost nothing. I have no doubt my two brainiacs will find a way to interact. Your words will be heard. Sometimes, you know, they aren't the words, exactly. Every time you sit at the table with her and draw shapes, you're saying it. There will be a moment, and she'll look at you, and you'll know that she knows."_

* * *

It is not the end. But it is that moment, that tipping point near the end, when all becomes clear. All the things that have come before fall perfectly into place: hopes, dreams, sorrows, disappointments. If it were a story, it is the moment when everything is explained, the second the reader understands where it has been leading. All the various strands, the hints that have been placed before, are woven together and the design is now visible. It all crystalizes in one consummate moment: be it a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, a day. It is not the end, not yet. There is still more, some dialogue, maybe some laughter or heartache, perhaps an epilogue. But it is the almost-end that is her favorite. Even the almost-ends that have not happened yet.

For Amy, the almost-end is still far in the future. It will take place in Stockholm.

They go out early, because it will be dark by the middle of the afternoon. But for now, it is a bright, sunny, crisp morning. There is snow on the ground, and they are huddled in coats and gloves. Their breath hangs in the air as it escapes their mouths. Amy doesn't mind the cold, although she enjoyed it more as a college student than as a senior citizen. Still, she wraps herself around Sheldon's arm, to warm them both.

Amy concentrates on the young couple walking in front of them. Such a mismatched pair, by looks. The woman is so much taller than the man, and her height is only accentuated by a massive braid looped around the very top of her head. Even though it is not blonde, Amy suspects it is a nod to this country in which they are walking. All she needs is candles on her head, and she will be Saint Lucia, lighting the way. It could seem silly, like a costume or an insult. But not on her.

They saw her yesterday, too, at her lecture. They have gone to all the lectures, of course. Sheldon has been recognized at most of them, not just physics as is expected. Amy was only recognized at the medical lecture; that, also, doesn't surprise her in the least. The woman was wearing a suit, then, with cat-eyed glasses, but not a modern suit. It was like something out of that ancient television show,  _Mad Men_. Her hair was twisted up into a classic, if massive, French twist, and she wore a broach that was a golden steampunk robot. It was, oddly, perfect. She spoke evenly, with certainty.

The woman seems to glide with equal surety this morning, but the man beside her seems to bounce a little in his steps. He fidgets with his hands. Then the woman reaches out to take his hand, and they share a look of love. For there is no doubt this unusual couple is deeply in love. Amy wants to envy them, the certainty of finding one's soulmate at such a young age, but she cannot. Here, at the almost-end, she is walking with her soulmate, too, and that is all that matters.

The beautiful woman turns her face back, sunglasses shielding her eyes. She gives a tiny wave and smiles, before the young couple turns on to a side street.

"Where are they going?" Sheldon asks. She can hear the disappointment in his voice; he does not like to be left out, despite the years of protests that he is an island.

"I don't know. Weren't you ever young and in love once?"

"Not once," Sheldon grunts. "Still."

He doesn't look at her when he says it, but Amy looks up at him, anyway. She is uncertain if he is referencing the being young or the being in love. It could easily be the former. Only now is his hair starting to turn gray at the temples. It has taken long enough. For so long, she thought maybe Sheldon really had discovered the fountain of youth. She had not thought it possible, but the gray makes him look even more handsome. There are a few wrinkles on his face, of course, but all his years of rigorous sunscreen application has paid off, and they only add to how distinguished he looks. She shakes her head at it all, and her long, silver braid snaps behind her. For her hair has been silver for many years now. But she does not cut it. Because, one Book Club Night, Sheldon told her he liked it long.

"What's so funny?" he asks at her chuckles.

"I was just thinking how handsome you are. How much younger than me you have looked for years. How unfair it all is. In a funny sort of way."

Now he does slow and turn to look down at her. "But you're beautiful. You're more beautiful now than the day I met you."

Ah, it was the latter. Amy blushes in delight as they walk toward the harbor.

* * *

They are drinking tea at the window, warming themselves, overlooking Stockholm's oldest square, waiting for the Nobel Museum to open. Sheldon was adamant they go today, that it will be the only appropriate day of their journey to visit the vaunted museum. They have stood in the cold on the cobblestones to watch the changing of the guard, the snappy blue uniforms contrasting with the snow and the pale stone palace. Sheldon's hands are still freezing when Amy touches them. They wrap their palms around their respective cups.

Amy is thinking of that beautiful, confident woman in the street. "Sheldon? Do you ever think about what it would be like to win if you were young? What would you do with the rest of your life? Would the rest of your career be a comparison or a disappointment?"

He looks at her, his eyes pure. "You would work harder so that you would win again. Marie Curie did it."

It is a simple, straightforward answer; logical, but unexpected. This still happens. Amy asks him a question hoping to prod him into a philosophical conversation, and then he says something obvious in reply. Or, conversely, she asks him what she thinks is a basic question, and he replies with depths she did not expect. Even after all these years of practice, she cannot judge it perfect every time. But it is the attempt that draws her back, it is the endeavor that she loves.

"Yes, but -" She pauses. She does not want to ruin this week for anyone. "No one has won twice in some categories."

"So think how momentous the second win will be."

Amy smiles and takes a drink of her tea.

* * *

Just beyond the information desk, they are standing together on the medallion in the floor, a recreation of the medal itself. They are both looking up. They have been standing and craning their necks and straining their eyes for forty minutes now. But the time is meaningless. Today is the first day it can be seen, mixed in with the other placards moving on the cable above the museum crowds in random order, and they do not want to miss it.

"Excuse me? Are you Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler?" A voice forces Amy to look down.

"Yes, I am," she says to the gentlemen in front of her.

"It's so exciting to meet you! The discoverer of the Fowler-Bonnet neurotransmitter!" he enthuses. "And here on this day of all days!"

Not accustomed to being fawned over as a celebrity, Amy blushes as he continues to flatter her and even smiles when he holds up his wrist for them to take a selfie with his watch.

Wanting to wrap it up, wanting to get back to watching the moving placards with Sheldon, she says, "This is my husband, Dr. Sheldon Cooper."

"Of course, of course. How could I forget? Congratulations to you both, it's such a wonderful day for you! Together!"

"Yes, it is," Sheldon says tersely, his eyes never moving away from the ceiling. "If you'll excuse us, we're concentrating."

Relieved, Amy does not tell him he has been rude. She was counting on it, after all. Resuming her posture next to him, she smiles at the image of HRH Harry Windsor, winner of the Peace Prize all those years ago. Who would have ever seen that coming? A few more placards pass, and then it appears. Amy sucks in her breath, and she hears Sheldon do the same next to her. They watch it for as long as they can, pivoting in place as it snakes its way along the track, until it folds in with the ones that have come before.

She turns to look at her husband and he is grinning, big and wide, that smile with the little edges of his crooked teeth she still adores. Then he puts his hand out in front of him and says, "Dr. Fowler."

It takes her a second to remember because it was so very long ago, but then she grins back, just as wide, and puts her hand in his.

"Dr. Cooper," she says, as they give each other a hearty handshake.

* * *

Cold and sore from the morning actives, Amy takes a mild pain pill for her arthritis and a hot shower to soothe her joints. When she comes out, wrapped in a white, fluffy robe, he is standing at the window, watching the snow fall. Even without his eidetic memory, she remembers another day they were in a strange city, Sheldon watching the snow fall. So many years ago. She watches him for moment, appreciating that he is still as attractive as ever in his royal purple henley shirt. Because, one Book Club Night, he added solid colored henleys to his tee shirt rotation.

She turns and sees their dress clothes, hanging high upon the open closet door. So that's what the noise was while she was in the shower: a hotel employee bringing their clothes from the laundry. Sheldon's tuxedo (she cannot wait to see him in it, looking so handsome) and her dress. Sapphire blue, a lace top, and lots of layers to her floor length skirt. Because, one Book Club Night, Sheldon told her that was his fantasy for this day.

Ada had taken her shopping the day after Thanksgiving, appalled that her mother had waited until the last possible minute to buy this most important dress. The Black Friday crowds had not reached the evening wear department in Nordstrom, and Amy allowed Ada to pull dress after dress off the rack for her. The two she picked out herself had been promptly dismissed by Ada with a curt "absolutely not."

The dresses Ada suggested, although perhaps fashionable - no, certainly the height of fashion if Ada had chosen them - did not suit her, she thought.

"I need the skirt to have lots of layers," she informed her daughter.

"Why?" Ada narrowed her blue eyes and looked down at her mother.

"Because."

Although she sighed deeply, Ada had returned with the blue dress. It was the one, and Amy knew it when she stepped out of the dressing room to show it off. Ada had come to inspect it with her typical critical eye, and Amy said, "Look how blue your eyes look standing next to it."

Ada's smile met hers in the mirror. "Ah, I understand now. Don't worry, he'll love it."

Now, at the almost-end, Amy brushes her hand over the steamed and frothed layers of soft fabric. "Do you like it, Sheldon?"

He jumps slightly, as though his thoughts were elsewhere, and turns. "It will look better on you than the hanger."

Amy smiles and walks over to him, the snow falling heavily now. "I'm sorry you didn't get your wish. No summer solstice for you."

Sheldon grunts.

"Are you nervous already?" Amy asks.

"Aren't you?"

"I will be. It still doesn't seem real to me, somehow." A yawn escapes and Amy adds, "But now I'm going to take a nap. It's going to be a late night."

Slipping off her glasses to place them on the nightstand, Amy debates about getting out her nightgown. Deciding it is too much effort, she just shrugs off the robe and climbs naked into the luxurious hotel bed, pulling the white duvet up around her, closing her eyes. She is not yet asleep when she feels the weight on his side of the bed before Sheldon whispers, "Will it bother you if I read here?"

"Not at all." She opens her eyes to smile up at him.

About to drift off, she stirs when he gets off the bed and she hears him rummaging. She thinks it is for his electronic white board, that he has had an idea that he wants to scribble and send off to Ada while it is fresh. They have sent white boards back and forth across hundreds of miles for a few years now, or even if they're in the same building, debating various mathematical principles. Currently, it is whether the time fluctuations in a wormhole would change certain Euclid principles. Because, one Book Club Night, Amy had foretold that he and Ada would find a way to tell each other they were loved even when they were apart. Amy rarely gets involved, her phone calls to Ada being of the more prosaic mother-daughter sort, although she enjoys seeing Ada's responses on the board, often punctuated with little drawings of The Doctor stretched or squeezed to either prove her point or mock her father's. For Ada is the only one allowed to mock her father in such a way.

But instead of the sound of an electronic marker on the screen, it is the rush of cool air as the duvet is lifted up and Sheldon slides in next to her. She opens her eyes. "Sheldon?"

"My hands are cold," he says, as though that were the entirety of the explanation.

"Here." Amy ignores his lie of omission and takes his hands in hers and puts them between her saggy breasts to warm them, and Sheldon presses himself closer. "A nap will help you pass the time."

"I'll admit I considered that."

Smiling, Amy leans closer to him, resting her forehead along his collar bone, enjoying the comfort he has brought to the nap. She shifts slightly, removing her hands from between them so she can press even closer, and reaches to put her hand on Sheldon's waist, surprised to find it bare. Sensing her movement, Sheldon pulls one hand out from between her breasts to place it on her hip.

Comfortable, warm, held by her love, Amy closes her eyes again. Not long after she becomes aware of the soft but rhythmic circling on her hip by Sheldon's palm. She tips her head back, surprised. "Aren't we supposed to do that after? On a boat in the harbor?"

Sheldon's eyebrows flick in recognition of her reference. Because, one Book Club Night, that's what he told her. "Please, there's no way you getting me on a boat, especially in the middle of winter. You know that."

A soft chuckle escapes her lips as she stretches up to meet his. The kiss is gentle, harnessed. Then Sheldon asks, "Does your hip still hurt?"

"No, I took something for it before my shower." She places her other hand on his chest, above his graying patch of chest hair. "Did you take your heart medication?"

"My heart is always ready for sexual activity with you," he says softly.

Blushing slightly at implied compliment, Amy replies, "That's not what I asked."

"Yes. My heart is healthy enough for sexual activity, too," Sheldon whispers into another kiss.

Although it is slower than it was years ago, their love is no less passionate. Her breasts may not be as buoyant as they once were, but that does not stop Sheldon from fondling them, from rolling his thumbs in that way that always takes her breath away. His posterior may not be a taut as it once was, but that does not stop Amy from grasping it and squeezing it at the height of her pleasure. And, when he enters her, it is still an act of the greatest congruence and love. Yes, it only makes sense that this would be at the almost-end.

Later, after they have both reached satisfaction with the other, Sheldon collapses next to her again, and they press close to one another, their arms encircled, their breath calming, and they fall asleep on this day, the day of their greatest triumph. The day of their almost-end.

* * *

The concert hall is packed, of course. Sheldon holds her hand as they take their seats, because the crowd makes him even more nervous. She is nervous now, too, but not because of the crowd. They have waited to come in, as late as they dared, because they are both bundles of nerves. The young man from the street earlier is already there, seated next to Amy. His is fidgeting with his program, and Amy gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

They do not have to wait long before the music starts. There is the pageantry, the Swedish King and Queen. Then the music swells again, and they all stand. Amy sees her as soon as she enters in the procession. The tall, slender woman they had seen around the city, in their hotel since their arrival. She is wearing a black gown. It has been made for her as a replica of the gown Grace Kelly wore in  _Rear Window_. Perhaps an odd choice, but the angles it makes across her shoulders and near her throat are almost geometric. If you knew her, it would make perfect sense. Her eyes are an alarming shade of blue, and they are more noticeable here, tonight, because she is not wearing her glasses.

Sheldon squeezes Amy's hand tightly, as though he is trying to squeeze the lump out of her throat. She returns the favor. They sit. Amy cannot concentrate. She applauds and stands at the appropriate times, but she cannot tear her eyes away from the beautiful woman. Others around her on the stage belie their nervousness by shifting or picking at their clothes. They are an unusual group of people, people not accustomed to such finery and pomp. For they are all scientists.

But the woman sits in the middle of the row, still and calm, her hands with their lovely long fingers crossed lightly on her lap, her unusual and enormous engagement ring catching the light. She is far younger than everyone around her, but she seems older, wiser. It is a skill she has, has had since her childhood. She looks, it occurs to Amy, as though she has been expecting this her whole life. Perhaps she has.

It is not until the woman stands, and Sheldon pulls Amy up, that she realizes they have been talking about her. When she walks to the middle of the stage, to take the two boxes from the King of Sweden, her most stunning physical feature is on display. Her hair cascades down her back, to her waist, a copper waterfall, wavy from the earlier braid. It will be all over the Internet instantly: this woman, this intellectual, normally press shy, dazzling the world with her pose and her hair. It might be an insult to talk about her physical characteristics, if she had not already dazzled them with her mind and her art.

This is it: the almost-end.

It is certainly not the almost-end Sheldon imagined for himself, and it not the almost-end that Amy sometimes allowed herself to imagine, either. It is better than either one of them could have ever envisioned. It is more perfect, more fitting. It would not have been perfect if it had been either one of them first. Despite the outward joy, the other would be sad. It would be a disappointment. There would have been no way around that disappointment, for they could not have done it together. For all their similarities, this is something that does not intersect: there is no room for neuroscience in string theory and vice versa.

In this, the almost-end, though, they have both achieved their greatest wish. They have combined forces to make the impossible happen. The precision, the geometry, were his contribution. The story, the emotions, were hers. In that second, when Amy realizes there is a tear on her face, she wonders if perhaps Book Club had something to do with it all along. Just as the woman takes a deep curtsey to the audience, her eyes catch theirs. She smiles and lowers her eyes into her genuflection, and in that look Amy knows what she is telling them, just as she foretold one Book Club Night. Amy looks at Sheldon. He turns at the exact same moment, a matching tear on his cheek. They smile at each other. They have done it. They may still get their individual prizes; that is a secret for the genuine end. They no longer care, which suddenly feels the way it should have all along. Because this is their joint prize, one cold December day in Stockholm. They both know they could not have done it without the other.

This is their joint prize at the almost-end: She is the youngest winner in the history of this category. She is first author of graphic novels to win. Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper, Nobel Laureate for Literature.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	98. Year Seven

**As is often the case, this is a story told in two acts. Thank you to YlvaBorealis for suggesting a motif in the second act!**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Seven**

* * *

**7**

Seven in Arial Rounded MT Bold, lit from behind, inside the round circle. For a second, Amy pondered its meaning. Seven years of, well, what, exactly? Not being with Sheldon; they had dated for five years before that. Not telling him she loved him; that date rolled around every Halloween. Not being married to him, not legally; there were six more days before that anniversary. Seven years of being intimate. It wasn't the sort of thing one generally discussed in polite company. It was, in reality, probably only celebrated by them because it fell on another, more socially acceptable holiday. Wait, why was she thinking about it like that? Maybe it was Howard's quip about the seven year itch when they had arranged babysitting for their upcoming wedding anniversary. The itch for intimacy with someone new. Amy couldn't imagine that, not even for a second.

Then she shook her head to clear her mind, as the elevator doors were closing behind them, and reached out toward the buttons, 7 already lit. "We have to pick up Ada."

In one swift motion, Sheldon trapped her hand. "No."

"But Rajesh is waiting for us to pick her up. I'm sure he'd like some alone time with Stuart after the store closes tonight." She looked up at Sheldon's face, even as she elevator slowed and stopped, the ding announcing they'd arrived at their floor. Number seven.

Sheldon stepped out of the elevator and tugged on her hand gently. She followed, if only so the elevator door wouldn't injure them as it shut. "We told them it would be a late night," Sheldon said as he walked to their door.

"Exactly." Amy stood and watched as he fumbled with his keys in his opposite hand, not dropping hers. "The concert was shorter than I expected, so we're early. It would be a welcome surprise for them. So they could enjoy Valentine's Day, too."

"It was a shame it was so short," Sheldon said as the door swung open and he pulled her inside, the koala grin on his face. Like a kid who just got everything he ever wanted for Christmas.

Despite her confusion at his current actions, Amy smiled back at him. She almost couldn't believe it when she'd read the blurb about it. A concert of science fiction and fantasy theme songs played on the kazoo and ukulele? How bad would those songs sound? How much would Sheldon love it? But, when they arrived at the venue, somewhere they'd never been before, Amy had regretted her choice. The theater was tiny, run down, and smelled strongly of cigarette smoke despite the current laws. When Sheldon's foot got stuck in some gum on the floor on the way to their threadbare seats, she almost apologized, admitted it was a bad idea and she should have put more research into it, and suggested they leave. Why did she want to change their well-ingrained ritual of eating hot dogs in spaghetti and watching  _About Time_?

But then, before the curtain even opened, the sound of haunting, other-worldly tones filled the air. Why did that sound so familiar? Sheldon had taken a deep breath, grinned, and leaned forward in his seat. "A theremin!" he whispered excitedly.

The concert was just as piercing to her ears as she expected - she preferred the smooth, soft tones of the harp - but Sheldon was adorable. He leaned forward the entire time, so focused, only turning to grin at her, even wider, between songs. She thought he would explode with excitement when Darth Vader's March started on the bassoon. He was the first to jump up and give a standing ovation as the small group took their bows in their tacky looking suits, and even the musicians looked uncomfortable with the unexpected accolade. Turning to her, Sheldon's eyes shone brightly as he said, "Where has this band been my entire life? This is the best Valentine's Day ever!"

Laughing, Amy had taken him home as he hummed the concert back to her in the car. His joy was so palpable, she couldn't even be slightly hurt that he thought it was the best Valentine's Day ever. But what was he up to now? Refusing to go pick up their daughter?

"Sheldon -"

But he pushed her against the shut front door. He kissed her, gently, which was surprising because of the push, and then whispered in her ear, "I love you more than Stanley loved Vera."

"You already -"

"Shhh." Another gentle kiss to silence her. The Post-It notes had not been forgotten; they were in a row down the middle of the hallway when she left the bedroom that morning. But this . . . ?

"I love you more than Leo loved Alma." Another kiss, firmer.

Quite frankly, she didn't care what this was anymore.

"I love you more than Alice loved waking up." With this kiss, he pressed his body firmly against hers, and Amy could fell just how much he was loving her.

"I love you more than Marie Curie loved science." Her mouth opened readily for his, greedy and searching.

"I love you more than Piggy loved making rules." His hand slide down her body, over her wrap dress, stopping on her hip as his fingers worked to pull up the hem.

"I love you more than Janeway loved breaking the rules." His mouth covered her's again, just in time to catch her moan of surprise as his hand slipped under the waistband of her panties. Thankful she decided against tights this evening, Amy arched closer to him, reaching down to start work on his belt.

So, on their seventh year, on the seventh floor, Amy let Sheldon brush her skin against the door with almost boundless passion. It was awkward because of their height difference and it was sloppy because neither of them were athletic. Their two pairs of glasses kept bumping into each other. But this was what seven meant to them: fervency, love, desire, gratitude, joy, impatience to share their love with each other, and each other only. Amy had an itch and only Sheldon could scratch it. And that was worth celebrating, every single year.

* * *

If she believed in karma, Amy would have been furious with it. After making Sheldon so incredibly happy on Valentine's Day, the universe should be rewarding her. Until this moment, she actually believed it was. She had wanted to do one of those artisanal cheese and wine tasting classes forever, but Sheldon had always refused saying it was "hoity-toity foodie Instagram preposterousness." First, she always told him she wasn't certain preposterousness was a real word, and then sighed and gave in. After all, Sheldon wouldn't drink the wine. And if Sheldon was miserable, so would everyone else in the class. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

But, the morning after Valentine's Day, Sheldon sent her a text at work, a silly formally worded invitation to join him at just such a class on their anniversary. She was gobsmacked. And thrilled. They would dress is some sort of cool, casual chic way, gather around a old wooden butcher block island, sample cheese and wine with other equally cool couples, and listen to a master - surely with an Italian or French accent - explain the heretofore unknown mysteries of cheese and wine to them. Even Sheldon would become a believer.

However, ten minutes in, Amy's daydreams were shattered. Instead of a reactant from the book  _The School of Essential Ingredients_ , they are sitting stiffly at uncomfortable desks in the sterile food science classroom of a local high school, and the harsh fluorescent lights were doing nothing for her new shade of lip gloss. Sheldon was sitting next to her, but there was no way she could snuggle closer to him as he finally admitted that wine was the nectar of the gods. Which seemed even more unlikely now. They were in the back row, where Amy had never once sat in her life, but the chairs were further apart back here and Sheldon wanted the leg room. And when would they taste the cheese? All the instructor had done for ten minutes was drone on about pasteurization in a monotone. Sheldon, Amy could tell by his wiggling, was beyond annoyed by the minor scientific errors the instructor was making in an effort to simply the explanations.

She turned her head until she caught her eye and she mouthed, "I'm sorry."

Sheldon shrugged and opened his mouth but then seemed to think better of it. He flipped the cover of the notebook in front of him - Amy had insisted they both bring one "to take notes" - and scribbled something. When he tore the page out, a couple of people near them turned around. Amy flushed but saw no choice but to take the note, now folded in his outstretched hand over the aisle between them.

**_Do you want to leave?_**  it asked.

Amy shook her head at him. Sheldon put his hands up, a supplication for an explanation. Sighing, Amy opened her own notebook.  ** _It's so quiet in here, we'd cause a ruckus. It would be rude._** Taking a breath, she slowly tore the page out along the perforations. Only one person turned around this time.

She watched Sheldon read it, and then he started writing again. Amy looked around helplessly. Why was he doing that? Didn't he know the sound of ripping was almost as distracting as their leaving would be? But when Sheldon tore his note this time, carefully following the perforations himself, she noticed that no one seemed concerned.

**_It's my fault. I should have researched the scientific and educational qualifications of our instructor prior to issuing the invitation._ **

Amy picked up her pencil.  ** _No, I wanted to do this. I love that you asked. I just expected there would be more tasting and less lecture_.**

Another note.  ** _I told you we should have eaten dinner._** She smiled.

**_We can go through McDonald's drive-thru on the way home._ **

She saw Sheldon's eyebrows go up as he hastily scribbled a reply.  ** _Really? Only say that if you're serious. To do otherwise is cruel._**

Amy smothered a giggle and looked over at Sheldon as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. It occurred to her that she had lost all track of what the instructor was saying, despite the cost of this class, but she didn't remember having this much fun in high school. That's because she'd never had this much fun, she realized. She had no friends to pass notes to, and certainly no handsome boy with whom to misbehave. No, high-school-Amy would have sat in the front row, taking copious notes no matter how boring the lecture was just in case there was a single detail she would miss that might be on the test. In the front row, friendless and unloved.

On a whim, she wrote a new note.  ** _Will you be my boyfriend?_** Then, under it, she drew two little boxes and wrote next to one  ** _Yes_** and next to the other  ** _No._**

Sheldon's eyebrow went up as he read it, and she could tell she had genuinely surprised him. He looked at her, and she smiled and made a little check mark motion with her hand. Shaking his head in obvious confusion, he picked up his pencil.

**_Yes._** Written next to it:  ** _Are you confused by the historical events of our relationship?_**

Amy smothered another giggle.  ** _Can I wear your class ring?_**

Another pause of confusion.  ** _I don't understand the parameters of this exercise. Nor do I own a class ring._**

A roll of the eyes.  ** _Come on, play along. Like we're in high school. Or we can listen to the lecture,_**  Amy wrote back.

A grunt of amusement. ** _Do you want to go to prom?_**

Amy grinned.  ** _Yes! But tonight we could go cruising._**

**_I've never understood why that is considered a pleasant experience._**  Amy put the note down and glared at him over the aisle. Sheldon shrugged back at her. Then he tore off another paper and wrote something quickly. ** _A movie?_**

**Dirty Dancing _? My mom won't let me watch it._**

She watched him carefully to see what he thought of the tense change.

**_I propose we make out under the bleachers instead,_** was his reply.

"Oh!" Amy dropped her pencil. Everyone turned to looked as she scrambled to pick it up. "Sorry, sorry. Go on. It's just that this class is so . . . exciting."

Her face bright red, she waited until everyone rotated in their seats again before she read the note one more time, certain she had misread it, and then looked back at Sheldon. He winked! The cutest boy in class just winked at her!

**_Am I dating a bad boy? My mom won't approve._ **

**_I'm worse than if Danny Zuko was a member of the Jets._** Amy grinned. Apparently this was a 1950s musical version of high school. Although, now that she thought about it, Sheldon had never gone to a 1990s version of high school.

Taking a risk, she wrote, ** _Second base?_**

Sheldon immediately set to work on his return note, and Amy watched him as he took longer than for any other previous notes. His pencil pressed hard into the paper with such force she feared it would snap in his hand. Had she crossed the line? Was he writing a forceful, reprimanding reply, that she should not be writing such things down for anyone to see, even as a joke? Amy's heart sank at her misstep.

But the page of notepaper that came back was a huge square, with big block letters in the center:  ** _YES._**

Even though she threw her head back with glee, she managed to bite her tongue and not laugh or yelp or make some other very surprised, very happy sound. Still grinning, she picked up her pencil.  ** _It's a good thing I wore a tight sweater._**

**_Don't think I didn't notice._ **

Amy shifted in her seat. This was getting . . . intense.

**_Should we get cut out and burn some rubber?_ **

**_And go where? Unfortunately, I doubt_ Dirty Dancing _is currently playing at any local theater._**

**_We could play it on Netflix and pretend the couch is the back seat of your hot rod._ **

**_Can we cruise to McDonald's first? I'll throw in third base._ **

Amy burst out laughing and then slapped her hand up to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry, so sorry. It's nothing. Just . . . cheese. Go on," she said to the glares she received.

"Um, we're actually talking about wine now," a woman two rows up said.

"Well, see, wine makes you do funny things, lady. It's called intoxication," Amy shot back. The woman grumbled and everyone turned around. Now she knew they had to either leave or stop it with the notes. But Sheldon was already passing her another one.

**_Are you going to kiss me with that mouth?_ **

**_Yes. But first we're getting Big Macs, then cuddling on the couch while watching_ Dirty Dancing _, and you're going to give me some serious over the sweater action. Let's floor it._**

Sheldon was up quickly, his long legs banging the desk in front of him as he stood. Amy put her hand out to him and squeezed between desks with him, as everyone turned around again and the woman who had said something earlier grumbled.

"I'm really sorry, everyone. We have, um, babysitter issues. This has been great. Really great," Amy blurted out in a rush as Sheldon pulled her out the door.

She held Sheldon's hand and ran down the dimmed hallway of the deserted high school with him, laughing along with him as lockers and sports posters whizzed past them. She was skipping class and with the cutest, baddest boy in school, no less!

* * *

Amy never saw the end of  _Dirty Dancing_. Instead, there on the hot rod of their sofa, she was brushing Sheldon's skin and whispering, "I love you more than science and cells and books."

Sheldon brushed her skin in return and whispered, "You are grander than the Nobel Prize. You are oxygen and hydrogen and carbon and the rays of the sun."

They were having the time of their lives.

* * *

_**Among many of things YlvaBorealis writes better than me, one is zany, kooky, silly, recapturing-their-youth Shamy. For better or worse, I tend to write quiet, contemplative Shamy who think and feel things deeply and at length. You know, book people. So when YlvaBorealis suggested that she'd like to see Shamy at a cheese and wine class, I decided to not only use her idea but also to write a pale homage to her work. With an admittedly cheesy music pun to be the cherry on top!** _

**_So, thank you, YB, and thank to everyone for your reviews!_ **


	99. The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2022**

**Primary Topic: _The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage: The (Mostly) True Story of the First Computer_ by Sydney Padua**

* * *

Raj opened the door with a smile. "Hey, Amy! Where's Sheldon?"

"Hello," Amy said, stepping inside the door as Raj pushed it shut behind them. A quick survey of the room confirmed that Ada was exactly where Amy anticipated she would be: sitting at the kitchen table, drawing with Stuart. Amy pushed the flat box in her hands forward. "We got pizza, so he took ours upstairs. This is for you."

"Thanks." Raj took the box and stepped to put on the counter. He looked over at her. "Sooo? All's well?"

"I guess." Amy shrugged, then turned on a smile with a wave when Ada caught her eye and said, "Hi, Mom!"

"Come on, let's put this away," Stuart said, and he and Ada set to work, putting the pens and pencils and other supplies back into the cart he kept for his art needs.

"Amy?" Raj asked softly. "Was it bad news?"

Amy shook her head, her whole body really. "No, not at all. The physiologist agrees there are no emotional issues, so no unpleasant surprises there."

"And the other?" Raj prodded, putting his hands in his pockets.

Amy sighed deeply. "IQ tests are notoriously difficult in children, so it's too early to put a lot of credence in the results." She paused as Raj's eyebrows went up. "But, yes."

"Sheldon must be thrilled. And you, of course, you're both very intelligent people," Raj added quickly.

Before Ada ran across the room toward her, Amy said, "I thought I'd get at least five years, you know? And Sheldon is being oddly quiet . . . " She put her arms out for the hug that slammed into her and said, "Hello, sweetheart! Did you have a good time? What are you working on? Your comic book?"

* * *

It had been like a scene from a movie, something filmed in slow motion. The mug slipped from Amy's grasp and fell, hot tea pitching and sloshing out of it, before it hit the floor and shattered, each piece seeming to fall away one at a time, not such much a crashing sound as a shuddering rumble. Mug shards and tea went everywhere, even up on Amy's tights. Not that she felt it.

Ada gasped and turned quickly, but Amy could only stand by the island, her hand still out, her fingers still wrapped around the now absent mug. At first, her voice only came as a squeak. Then, finally, she managed to say, "What did you say?"

Holding up the  _Time_  magazine Amy had borrowed from Stuart, the very magazine she had been looking forward to reading while she enjoyed her tea, Ada asked, "Why is Prince Harry the man of the year? What does that mean?"

"Did you just," Amy took a deep breath, "read that? On the cover, just now?"

"Yes," Ada's voice wavered, and then she threw her head onto the cushion of the sofa where she was sitting, a little sob escaping.

"Ada!" Amy rushed to her side, jumping over the puddle of tea and mug. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry I touched your magazine and you made a spill."

"Oh, sweetheart." Amy smoothed Ada's hair as she sat down on the coffee table. "I'm not angry with you. You didn't make me spill my tea, and I wouldn't have sat the magazine there if you weren't allowed to touch it." It wasn't the exact truth, for Ada had technically made her spill her tea. But not for the reason she thought. "Ada, I'm going to ask you something and I want you tell me the truth. Can you do that?"

Ada nodded into the sofa, although her tears had quieted. "Did you just read the cover of that magazine, about Prince Harry, or did your father tell you what it said before he left?"

"I read it," Ada whispered, turning her head to look at Amy, even though she was still bent over, her bony hind end poking up.

"Here." Amy took the magazine and frantically searched for the article in question. "Will you read this to me, this first paragraph?"

Her daughter seemed to pause, but then she nodded and sat up to take the magazine. Amy held her breath, and then Ada's voice came, whispering but sure, "Several years ago, when His Royal Highness Henry Charles Albert David was known more as a party animal and royal wild child -"

"Stop," Amy said softly. "Ada . . ." She paused, wishing desperately that Sheldon was home. Instead, he was at Leonard's, ostensibly to play video games, although Penny had an evening shoot so they were really corralling three small children. "Sweetheart, how long have you been able to read?"

Throwing herself back down on the sofa, Ada wailed afresh.

"Ada, Ada." Amy stood quickly and shifted to the sofa, picking up her daughter and pulling her close. "Please stop crying. Why are you crying? I told you I'm not angry with you about the magazine and the tea."

"Because -" she sobbed "- you're - going - to - give - me - a - strike."

At that moment, Amy cursed the rigid parenting style into which Sheldon naturally fell. Never mind that it could not be denied that Ada flourished under the clearly defined rules and punishments.

"Listen to me," Amy whispered into her ear, running her hand up and down her back, "l'm not going to give you a strike. Your father isn't going to be angry with you, either. You've done nothing wrong, nothing to earn a strike. Let's take a couple of deep breaths, okay?"

Amy started, one deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth and, after a couple more Ada feel into rhythm with her. Who would have guessed the ancient Vulcan practice of Kolinahr would proved so helpful when your small child was having a melt-down? Sheldon, that's who. And he was right.

"Better?"

Her daughter nodded into her chest before sitting back. Amy reached up to wipe the last of her tears away from her face, and smiled at her. "Sometimes it's very hard being four, isn't it?" Ada nodded again. "Can you tell me when you learned to read? I'd like to know. Did Dad teach you?"

Ada shook her head. "No."

It was good to have that confirmed. Amy never doubted he would break his promise, but she couldn't figure out why Ada thought Sheldon would be angry with her.

"I - I thought we just could," Ada said softly.

"You thought everybody could read?" Amy asked.

"Because I just could."

Amy furrowed her brow. "Do you mean you don't remember learning? That you could read as long as you remember?" Ada nodded once more. "But what about the other kids in your class? Or Lucy and Fenny? Do you think they can read?"

A violent shake of the head. "No, Mom. I mean people like us."

Her eyebrows shot up. "People like us?"

"You and me and Daddy."

"Did Daddy tell you that?"

Ada's blue eye fixed on Amy's and she said, calmly and confidently, "No. I can just tell."

She couldn't help it, she let out a low whistle. "Okay. That's . . . illuminating. Thank you for telling me the truth, Ada. And," Amy took a deep breath, "I'm very happy you can read. Reading is a wonderful, exciting thing. There are whole new worlds of imagination to be discovered inside of books." She leaned forward and kissed Ada's forehead. "How about you use Siri to pick out a movie while I clean up the tea? We'll sit here and watch it together."

* * *

Only half watching the movie, Amy held Ada in the crook of her arm and waited for Sheldon to come home. She hoped, for a variety of reasons, that it wasn't chaos at Leonard's house. She needed her husband to come home in a good mood. Although, probably this would be exactly the sort of thing that would put him a good mood, one of his hopes for their daughter having become a reality all on its own, without him having to break his promise. Amy tried to imagine the scene at the Hofstadter home, Leonard and Sheldon watching three young children including an infant, because the very notion of it had made her smile so much in recent days, trying to reconcile that scene with the two bachelor roommates she had met.

But it was no use, she could not stop thinking about her impending conversation with Sheldon. Finally, she heard his key in the door and got up quickly to meet him, ignoring Ada's small protest when she moved.

"Sheldon!" She pulled the door from him, opening it wider.

"Amy." He nodded, turning to put his keys in the bowl. His eyes went to the sofa. "Ada."

"Hi, Dad." She was still engrossed in the movie.

"How - how was your evening?" Amy asked, thinking she probably shouldn't assault him with this revelation until she knew exactly what type of mood he was in.

He stopped and looked at her, cocking his head. "As well as can be expected with a wild almost-two-year old and an infant suffering from gastric reflux. Fenny's new train table, though, is a delight, and he made up for it."

"So you had fun, more or less?" she coaxed, and her eyes flickered to a white stain upon his shoulder.

"I would say less than more, but it was fine." He shrugged. "What are you looking at?"

"There's something on your shoulder."

Sheldon twisted his neck to look down and then groaned. "Spit-up." He lifted off his outer tee shirt, leaving on just his yellow undershirt and walked down the hall.

"We'll be back, sweetheart," Amy said to Ada and followed him. She shut the bedroom door behind them.

"Amy?" Sheldon pivoted in the bedroom. "What's going on? There's clearly something on your mind."

"Ada can read," she blurted out.

"Read?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, read. Full sentences,  _Time_ magazine, the whole shebang."

He took a deep breath and sat down on the end of the bed. "All on her own?"

"Apparently. She says she just could. You probably need to know it was a rough evening. She thought I was angry with her because I dropped my tea I was so surprised." Amy shrugged and sat down next to him. "I was shocked and I don't think I handled it well, honestly. There were a lot of tears."

"She can read," Sheldon repeatedly. Then he said louder, turning to her, "Anything else? Algebra with multiple variables?"

"I don't know, Sheldon," she said tersely. "What part of it was a rough evening did you not understand? I didn't quiz her."

"Sorry." Sheldon hand reached for hers.

"There's something else," Amy said, hesitant.

"Yes?"

"She thinks or knows or something - anyway, she's pretty sure she's different than her classmates and her friends. I think she's known for a long time." Unable to hold it in, Amy buried her face in Sheldon's neck and let out a sob. "It's probably why she's become more quiet lately and not as playful at school because she's bored with her lessons and she thought we both knew but only you knew and you were right all along and I was wearing blinders and I'm a horrible mother who was blind to what was right in front of me."

Sheldon's arm went around her, and he asked softly, "Different how?"

"I - I think she's knows. That's she smarter," Amy said.

Even though Sheldon held her tightly, intermittently rubbing her back, he didn't say any of his usual soothing words and sounds. So he thought she was an imperceptive mother, too.

Her tears lessening, Amy pulled back. "You knew, didn't you?"

Sheldon looked away. "No. I mean, I hoped. There were the things we both knew, that she's clearly linguistically advanced for her age, that she's mature for her age. I had no doubt she had the capability if someone would teach her, but . . . no." He turned back and looked at Amy, his eyes intense. "Sometimes I thought maybe I saw something, but I always discounted it as wishful thinking. Apparently, I, too, was oblivious. But I don't have a good excuse."

Amy swallowed and reached up to wipe a tear off her cheek. "What do we do now?"

"I think that's up to you. Either we . . . carry on for another year. Or we make a plan." He sighed. "I, for one, would like some quantifiable evidence. But it's up to you."

Feeling adrift, Amy looked at Sheldon, who had lowered his eyes. When she backed out of the hug, he had taken her hand again and now he was running his fingertips along her rings, something he had not done in ages. Amy did not expect this response. She had thought Sheldon would be overjoyed. And maybe even angry at her, that she had held their daughter back in her wish to give her the idyllic childhood Amy had never enjoyed. It was all a fantasy, she realized. Yes, she could and would still strive to make Ada's childhood as happy as it could be, but she could no longer deny who Ada was.

A great peace settled over her with this decision. Why, then, was it so clear that Sheldon wasn't at peace?

"I agree," she ventured softly. "I think it's time to find out exactly how smart our daughter is."

All Sheldon did was nod.

* * *

Back in the present, Amy could feel it. Even though it was setting several feet away, ignored on the corner of Sheldon's desk, the packet seemed to be leaking radiation out into the great room all through the late dinner of pizza and even after, through Ada's bath, and then when she and Sheldon sat at the table, working on their shapes and angles together. Amy wondered if Ada sensed how quiet they were being, but she seemed to be concentrating in her serious way on the murmured instructions and suggestions given by Sheldon as they bent over their papers. Perhaps not, this was one of her favorite things to do with him.

Then was time for bed, and, after Amy had read a chapter in the newest American Girl book, as usual, she closed the book with more purpose than usual. "Ada, sweetheart, do you like school?"

"Yessss," she said as though she was confused.

Amy smiled softly at that, realizing that, of course, school was all Ada knew of her week days. "I mean, do you ever feel bored?"

Pausing for a moment, Ada shrugged. "Like when I already know what Ms. Anderson is saying?"

Her breath catching, Amy said, "Yes, like that. Does that happen a lot?"

"Sometimes." Then Ada looked up her, her blue eyes the same shade as Sheldon's when he was concerned. "But then she lets me look through books and read. Or sometimes I help her sort and staple worksheets."

"Do you like doing that?"

"I like making them straight."

"Would you . . . would you be frightened to be in a different class in a new school with other children who were older than you if you could learn new things?" Amy ran her hand along Ada's copper hair.

"Like Jacob?"

"Maybe not Jacob himself, but children his age," Amy said. She was so wrapped up in Ada lately that she had somehow forgotten that her favorite playmate was two years older than her. Another wave of regret washed over her. To see Ada and Jacob together one would not have guessed they were different ages; that should have been a clue to her, all these years.

Answer pause and Ada seemed to process this in her serious way. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, because I like to learn new things. I'm not afraid."

"No, you don't have to be afraid. But it would be okay to be frightened, if you were. Regardless, nothing has been decided. I promise we'll talk about it more before it's decided, okay?" Amy kissed the top of her head and started to turn to get out of bed.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Is that why Dad is sad?"

"Oh, sweetheart -" Amy turned back and pulled Ada very close to her "- Daddy is not sad. You've done nothing to make either one of us sad. It's like . . . it's like . . . well, it's a very difficult concept, and you may not understand it until you're an adult, but sometimes you really, really want something and then it happens and you don't know what to do with it." It was not until she was explaining it to her daughter that Amy understood what Sheldon was experiencing.

"Like when Uncle Raj wanted a new puppy but he forgot how it would pee inside unless he took it downstairs all the time? But he and Uncle Stuart love it anyway?"

Amy smiled, thinking of Raj and Stuart and the new member of their family, Otis, and Raj's grumblings that they should have gotten an adult dog, not a puppy, but also the kisses and love with which they showered their little fur ball. Why had she never noticed how perceptive Ada could be before? "Something like that."

* * *

He was standing with his arms crossed looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows in their office. Only able to make out his silhouette in the darkness, the only light being that spilling into the great room from the hallway and not quite reaching this corner of the room, Amy said softly as she approached him, "Sheldon?" It was the first time she could ever recall him doing that. "Is there an astrological or meteorological phenomenon tonight?"

"No," he said, not turning. "I just realized I never took the time to enjoy the view before. Someday it might be gone, and I'll regret it."

"I see you've mastered the art of allegory."

"Huh?" Sheldon turned then.

Amy smiled slightly and shook her head. "Never mind." She paused. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to discuss? We produced a child prodigy, which is not surprising given that I was one and you're a genius, too."

Standing beside him now, watching the view herself, the lights of Pasadena before them, Amy said, "We have to decide what to do. What school to send her to, how difficult it will be to get her enrolled. You heard what the advisor said, most schools will not accelerate children more than two years beyond their natural grade level anymore for emotional and physiological reasons."

"We don't have to decide right now. We have another year."

"We do?" Amy turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.

"I promised you five years. I don't take my promises lightly."

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy reached out and touched his arm. "I won't hold you to it. I thought it was clear when I said we'd get her tested. I think I've been in denial, only wanting a baby girl. And there's no proven link between IQ and genetics. But she's . . ." Amy shrugged. "But she's a  _homo novus,_ after all."

"Even if we were able to enroll her for this fall, at four and half, what would it be, first grade? She already knows all of that."

"But you could say the same every year thereafter. She already knows a lot of what is taught at her daycare, maybe all of it. Granted, the educational goals there are more for enrichment and thus the topics are more broad than deep and not focused on academia, but . . . I don't know."

Sheldon turned. "I was thinking that perhaps broad enrichment topics are good for her right now. She is, as you are always reminding me, only a child. Once we enroll her in school, she'll be in the gifted and talented group, and we were told that can be a very competitive environment. Perhaps we should wait another year. Perhaps I could - or we could - add more depth in the evenings. Or find some other time to do it. There are some topics that we haven't worked with her on yet, like spelling. We can do that, here at home, for the next year and half."

"You've really surprised me, Sheldon. I thought you'd already be looking at colleges online," Amy said. "This all sounds so . . . reasonable."

He reached up and put his finger tip on of the division in the glass, running it up and down. "Children who skip grades are more likely to be bullied. It's the very first bullet point on the pro and con list we received."

Amy reached out and put her arms around Sheldon, surprising him, but also trying to shield him from the memories. She rested her cheek against his back. "Is that what has been bothering you?" she whispered.

There was a long pause, a period of silence, until Sheldon put his hand over hers, entwining their fingers. "I wanted her to be a genius. I was certain that she was. But then . . . I don't have any good memories of school, Amy. Why did I wish this on her?"

Batting the tears out of her eyes, Amy thought about her own school days. Bored and restless because she already knew everything, bullied and teased. Friendless. Only Aunt Flora. And Sundays on the beach. And a few blessed nights of grilled cheese and  _Jeopardy!_ with her mother. And poor Sheldon, younger than her, such a scrawny child in his school pictures, an alcoholic father, his brother a bully in his own house, and possibly . . . very different.

"I'm not going to lie, I'm frightened, too," Amy said. "And there is very little we can do once she goes to school, she will have to battle and manage a lot of situations on her own. But she has us, and we're together and we're present and we're dedicated to her. Neither one of us had that, really."

"She's going to get hurt."

Amy swallowed. "We all do, at some point. We can't shield her forever. I know, I've been trying for four years, and see where it got me? Ada thinks I'm angry with her, she thinks she's done something wrong by being intelligent. That is the exact opposite of what I wanted for her."

He finally turned then, in her arms, and pulled her close to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You did nothing wrong. If we'd both had mothers like you - huh."

"What?"

"Once again, you're correct. We are different than our parents. We have each other."

Smiling softly, tilting her head back to look at him, Amy said, "I'm sure we'll make mistakes, Sheldon. But we would have made mistakes even if Ada were an average child in an average classroom. What's important is that we present a united front, that we support each other."

He returned her smile, his eyes soft and warm. He leaned down and kissed her softly. "I agree. See, we're already on the same page. And we really don't have to decide anything tonight. I know you were mocking me, but I'd like to do some research in the various school options. We should do it together. There's a lot of information to sift through."

Amy nodded. They had come back from their meeting with a pile of paperwork and brochures. Local private schools, the gifted and talented program details and the magnet school list for the Pasadena Unified School District, test results . . . it was overwhelming to be bombarded with so much information. "How about Book Club? That might help us relax."

Sheldon nodded. "I'll grab your iPad." Moving away, toward their charging station, he said, "I'm concerned about why you picked this book,"

"Concerned?" Amy raised her eyebrows, walking toward the sofa.

"While I acknowledge and appreciate Ada Lovelace's role in the history of computer science, I do not want Ada to be confused about whom she was named after," he said crisply, as he joined her.

"First of all, I don't think she will. We've just been discussing how brilliant she is. Secondly, I thought you'd be thrilled I picked a graphic novel," Amy countered, taking her iPad from Sheldon's outstretched hand.

Having grunted at the first point, Sheldon said to the second, as he sat next to her, "Okay, maybe I was. Surprised, though, too. You occasionally read an  _Agent Carter_  comic, but that's only if I bring you one."

"That's because they color her with blonde hair in those comics, and you know I can't stand that sort of discontinuity. Also, I just prefer to read other genres of books, I guess, when I have the time to read." Amy sighed. "But, yes, it was the connection to another Ada that made this book catch my eye. I find Ada Lovelace a tragic person. And, okay, I'll confess that maybe our Ada would enjoy this. I don't think telling her there is another brilliant woman with her name in the past is the same thing as telling her she was named after that particular person."

Sheldon tilted his head. "Perhaps you're correct. As you wisely point out, we have quantifiable proof that she is a genius. However, no matter how clever our little _homo novus_ is, I think that this book is beyond her comprehension level right now. But I've already added it to the list of books I think she will enjoy as she ages."

Amy furrowed her brow, "You have a list of books for Ada? Like an actual list, or just something puttering around in your head?"

His hand went his chest as he sucked in a breath. "Amy! Nothing just _putters_ around my head!" She smiled. "No, an actual list. It's in our cloud account."

"Really?"

"Yes. I've been adding to it for four years now. It's not a secret."

Although they had a family shared cloud account, Amy had never entered Sheldon's side. She had never been in dire need to do so; if she needed something he had, she'd ask him to send it to her side. Amy threw her arm's around him and buried her face into his chest. "Oh, Sheldon."

He patted her back and said, "Um . . . are you okay?"

Backing up, Amy smiled at him. "I had no idea. But a list of books to share with Ada!"

Still looking confused, he shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is. You love to read. While I have always enjoyed reading, I have grown to love it, too, under the reign of Book Club. I thought you already knew the benefits of sharing this hobby with our daughter."

"I do. I did. I just -" She couldn't help but keep beaming at him.

"Sooo . . . this book?" Sheldon prompted.

"Oh, yes." Amy shook her head. "I enjoyed it. My main complaint is actually the reason I read so few comic books and graphic novels: I find them too short. Although the footnotes and endnotes helped here, to flesh out the story, to give the background information and additional facts."

"I was also impressed with the research." He paused. "You said you find her tragic? Why? She was a genius, well ahead of her time, able to think in ways few others could, and she left behind a legacy. How is that tragic?"

"She died too young. She addled her mind at the end with laudanum, although I do understand that was very common in that particular time period. And she was raised to reject anything 'poetical' for fear she'd turn out like her father."

"Hmmmmmm. I'll grant you the first two points, but I'm not sure the last is tragic," Sheldon said.

There was a stirring in Amy's brain. "Listen, Sheldon, I know we said we'd move on to Book Club and leave decision about Ada's education behind for the evening, but this reminds me of something I want to say. I assumed our school choice will include advanced placement, the gifted program, and a STEM-focused curriculum?" Sheldon nodded. "However, I do not believe in a STEM exclusive education, and if I ever think Ada is in danger of that, we'll be re-evaluating her educational needs."

"But -"

"No buts. I will not have the humanities sacrificed to made a scientific robot out of my child. She is not a machine, she is a person. Obviously I understand the importance of a STEM heavy curriculum, and I would love it if she grew up to follow in one our footsteps. But it is more important to me - no,  _essential_  to me - that I allow her to become who she wants to be, who she is destined to be, even if that is not a scientist." Amy sighed softly and looked down at her skirt, smoothing out a wrinkle. "I had to fight my mother, you know, to join the science club and such. I will not fight Ada if she wants to join an art club or choir or whatever she wants to do. Here -" she leaned forward for her iPad, which was lying on the coffee table and opened her app to find the page she had marked in the book, "even Ada Lovelace said - and remember this is a quote from an actual essay she wrote - 'Mathematical science shows what is. It is the language of unseen relations between things, but to use and apply that language we must be able fully to appreciate, to feel, to seize . . . the unconscious! Imagination, too, shows what is - hence it should be cultivated by the truly scientific - those who wish to enter into the worlds around us!'"

Looking back up, Amy stared into Sheldon's blue eyes, his mouth open ever so slightly. Would he fight her on this? They had disagreed about it before, of course, on yet another Book Club Night. But would this be a permanent disagreement in their marriage, something they would forever be struggling against each other about? She did not want it to be, but she would not back down.

But he swallowed and nodded deeply. Then he said, "What kind of hypocrite would I be if I kept a list of books to read with her but denied her the humanities in school?"

Amy's breath caught. "Do you mean it? Do you promise?"

"Of course. I've made peace with comic book class and swimming lessons, haven't I? I see how much she loves them. Besides," he leaned in closer, "I don't think choir is in her future. Have you heard her sing? She clearly did not get our musical genes."

Perhaps it was the stress of the day, perhaps it was Sheldon's little joke (although, she, too, had noticed this), but Amy threw her head back and laughed. Sheldon reached over and squeezed her hand, and, as her laughter died, he asked, "Better? You've been tense all day."

Amy nodded. "Yes. I don't know why I was so tense. I should have had faith in you, in us. We can do this, we can raise a child prodigy, right?"

"You may have been in denial, but I knew we were doing for the past four years. And doing a mighty fine job."

"Indeed we have." She picked up his arm and put it over her shoulder, cuddling into him. "Book Club. I really liked this book, Sheldon. Let's talk about the part after the first comic, when the author imagines that Ada and Babbage are trapped in an alternate pocket universe, one in which Ada's contribution is acknowledged and she does not die too young. Did it bother you have someone you admire treated as fiction?"

"Not at all. It was an alternate universe!" Amy chuckled into his chest. "I liked it that she postulated that mathematics and the first computer could have been used to fight crime."

"I'm not sure it was fighting crime, really. Especially sense their definitions of crime were 'street music and poetry,'" Amy said.

A pause and then Sheldon's hand rubbed her arm. "Although maybe street music is a crime. Regardless, I still enjoyed it."

"My favorite comic was the one in which the Victorian authors all made an appearance, and their novels are loaded into the cloud as searchable data. There are so many clever puns there."

Sheldon chuckled and she felt the rumble in his chest. "Somehow I knew that would be your favorite."

Smiling, Amy said, "What were yours?"

"I actually analyzed all the mathematical equations used - not just in the spoken parts of the story or the endnotes, but the ones used as background art. They're all correct."

"Somehow I knew that would be your favorite."

He murmured something in appreciation and they fell silent. Amy was content with that, to have Sheldon's arm around her, to know he truly did support her educational goals for Ada, to know that, even though she was apprehensive of the struggles that may lie ahead for their daughter, the difficulties that always befell the smartest kid in class, Sheldon would stand with Amy, to defend Ada, to help her, to guide her. To whatever she wanted to be.

"Do you want to know what my other favorite part was?" he asked, suddenly.

"Of course."

Sheldon leaned forward, and she was forced to remove her arms from round him, which she regretted. "Where's my iPad? I bookmarked it." He got up and went in search.

"Oh, that reminds me, did you see that article today, that leak, that Amazon and Apple having been working together to make an iPad that switches to Paperwhite mode for reading?" she asked.

"About time," he said and opened his messenger bag and pulled out his iPad. "One less device. Although I like the smaller size of our Kindles." He walked back over to the sofa and pushed the iPad over to Amy to look at the page he had marked.

In the first panel, Ada and Babbage face each other, a teacup in her hands, and he is leaning against his Difference Engine. On the previous pages, he has just met her and immediately launched into an explanation of how the machine works. But in this panel, there are no words, only the rays of understanding radiating from each of them as they look at each other in silence. The next two panels showed Ada talking so rapidly she spills her tea: "It can tabulate accurately and to an unlimited extent all series whose general term is comprised by the formula ^7Ux=0! Indeed, all other series which are capable of tabulation by the method of differences!" Babbage responds in the same frame, his eyes wide with joy, "EXACTLY!" The final panel is the two of them bent of the machine, Babbage saying "This bit was particularly clever of me!" and Ada nodding vigorously at him. In the background, a woman says, "Oh look, we're present for the invention of geek."

She chuckled.

"Amy, if you could have any superpower, what would it be?"

She lifted her head and looked up at him. "Why? Where did that come from?"

"It's what they're doing in her comic book class, you know, making a comic book about themselves."

"Yes, I know that."

"And they get to pick any super power for themselves. Ada has not yet decided."

Amy smiled and put her head back down. "She will, I'm sure. I guess mine would be to fly. Or apparate. To travel anywhere in the world quickly. You?"

"It used to be the ability to make myself invisible."

A small lump formed in Amy's throat and she swallowed it. "Not anymore?"

"No. When I was in school. And some, even, after I met Leonard. But not after I meet you. I never wanted be invisible from you."

"Because you were preening for me?" She looked up with a smile.

"It worked, didn't it?"

Amy strained upwards and kissed him. "Do you know what else I hope for our Ada? That someday she finds someone who loves her as much as I love you."

"Not while she's in school! Not until she's thirty!"


	100. Adventures

**Adventures**

* * *

_"You thought everybody could read?" Amy asked._

_"Because I just could."_

_Amy furrowed her brow. "Do you mean you don't remember learning? That you could read as long as you remember?" Ada nodded once more. "But what about the other kids in your class? Or Lucy and Fenny? Do you think they can read?"_

_A violent shake of the head. "No, Mom. I mean people like us."_

_Her eyebrows shot up. "People like us?"_

_"You and me and Daddy."_

_"Did Daddy tell you that?"_

_Ada's blue eyes fixed on Amy's and she said, calmly and confidently, "No. I can just tell."_

* * *

Of course she knows how to read. Why is everyone surprised by that? No, she doesn't know when she "learned." She has always been reading, between Mama's hands, sitting on Daddy's lap. There have always been words and often pictures. She still likes the words and pictures together best.

At first, Ada thought she was in trouble, that she had committed an act she did not know there was a rule against. The sound of the broken mug, the spilled tea, but mostly the look on her mother's face. Not long after, there is a hushed conversation between her parents behind a closed door. This means, she has learned, that they are unhappy, although this is the first time she can remember them being unhappy with her and not each other. Sometimes, they will be mildly unhappy with each other in front of her, but if they suddenly leave to talk behind a closed door, that means they are fighting. It is the rareness of these fights in the bathroom or elsewhere that make them stick in her memory.

Later still, Mom asks her read the story at bedtime. Nervous, having never read aloud before, Ada complies. Because Mom is unhappy with her. But she cannot finish, the sense of guilt is too great.

"Ada, sweetheart, what's the matter?" her mother asks, soothing her hair in that way Ada especially enjoys.

"You're still mad at me," she wails.

"No, no, no." Then Mama - she is always Mama deep in Ada's heart - pulls her up close and tight on her lap, even though she has told her she is too big to be held like that anymore. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I should have never let you think that, even for a second. I was surprised and I dropped my tea, that was all. Neither your father or I are angry with you or disappointed in you in any way. We're disappointed in ourselves, that we didn't know you could read, that we never noticed the signs, that you felt like you couldn't tell us or read around us."

Ada doesn't know how to explain what she is feeling, that although she has come to realize that no one else in her class at school can read, she just assumed her parents would know she could read. Just like they knew she was taller than everyone else in her class, just like she knew how to tell time on an old-fashioned clock; she thought they knew because Daddy is always telling her what a little genius she is, because they always teach her new things, because she loves learning all these things.

That reading is like breathing. She remembers when she was given the puzzle of body organs and Mom explained the heart is always beating and the lungs are always breathing and it happens all the time without noticing it. Ada tried to control it, but there was no way to stop her heart from beating even though she was suddenly aware of the thump-thump in her chest. She could stop breathing, but that only made Dad angry with her and Mom got her worried face and she didn't like not breathing anyway. Just like she doesn't like not reading.

After the tears stop and she does find the courage to read aloud and Mom tucks her in, soothing her hair again and asking her to never be frightened to tell them anything, Ada starts to drift off to sleep.

Then, just on the edge of dreams, Dad comes in and kneels beside her bed. "Hey, kid," he whispers, taking her hand in his. "Your mother says you had a rough evening."

Ada nods her head against her pillow. Dad will understand.

"I'm very proud of you," Dad says.

"I don't think Mom likes it," Ada whispers.

"Your mother -" Dad licks his lips. "Your mother was surprised. Your mother loves you very, very much. More than you probably know or understand. She wanted you even before she knew who you were, and she waited for you longer than she deserved. It's hard to see you get older, because when you get older you'll move out and we won't have you around every day. And reading is a sign that you're getting older."

"Why would I move out?"

Dad smiles. "I've never understood that, either." Then he kisses her forehead and stands.

Before he can say goodnight, Ada asks, "Dad, what should my superpower be? For my comic book?"

"You can be anything you want, Ada. All you have to do is imagine it. Goodnight." He pulls his hand away and walks toward the door.

"Dad, wait!" He stops and turns. "Did you know? That I could read?"

"I knew you had it in you all long." A wink and he is gone.

* * *

The tests were easy. And they were tests, she knew it. Mom had not used that word, she'd even made a hissing noise when Dad started to say it, but Ada knew. Words and shapes and numbers. Picture questions like a computer and book were like a paintbrush and painting. Numbers in a row and what came next. She was also sent to a brightly colored room to talk to a strange woman alone. A woman who asked her several times, "How does that make you feel?" What an odd question. She felt like herself.

Then nothing new until the evening Uncle Raj picks her up from school and takes her home. As enjoyable as it is to draw with Uncle Stuart and to play with their new puppy, Otis, that cannot change the stillness Ada feels later that evening. Both Mom and Dad are quiet through dinner and after.

Finally Mom asks her, after they read together, if she would like to go to another school with older children. Ada is not sure what she thinks. She wants to learn new things. She wishes Jacob could be in her class, although Mom says that may not be so. But she is not afraid. Why would she be afraid? She would be herself. Surely Mom and Dad know that, they are always telling her to be herself, to never be afraid to be herself.

But Mom says nothing has been decided.

And the next day, her parents seem lighter, happier. Dad is not so sad anymore. Mom said they would discuss it before something was decided for sure, but Ada feels that a decision has been made, anyway.

Ada wonders what it is, but she is not afraid. She is more concerned with her comic book. Class is tomorrow and she has yet to decide on her superpower.

* * *

Mom says she would fly, so she could go visit foreign countries. "Like when we go to Denmark in May?" Ada asks. "We're flying there." It is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to Ada, and she is almost bursting with excitement to go to this magical place called Denmark.

"Yes, we are. But if I could fly as fast as Superman I could get there much faster. And not have to wait around or stand in lines at the airport. Wouldn't that be better?" Mom asks.

"But where would you put your suitcase?" Ada says. She is serious - Superman has no luggage - but it makes Mom laugh and Dad grin over breakfast, so it makes her smile, too.

Dad says he isn't sure what his superpower would be, but maybe to make those with lesser minds leave him alone.

"Sheldon!" Mom says.

"Like when I go to play at Jacob's house but Lucy won't leave us alone?" Ada says at the same time.

"Ada!" Mom shouts at her, too.

Dad does not reply because Mom called him by his name, and she knows that means he is in trouble. Not a lot, but enough. Ada looks back down at her oatmeal, but not before she sees the corners of Dad's mouth go up. They are in trouble together. That happens sometimes.

* * *

There are seven children in this new comic book class at Uncle Stuart's store. Ada is the only girl, which bothers Mom for some reason, she can tell, although it does not bother Ada. She always sits at the table by Jacob. He is not a very good artist; Ada's pictures are much better, she thinks, but she is glad he is there as he is the only one she knows.

Uncle Stuart asks each of them what superpower they have decided on. The boys say flying and being invisible and laser beams for eyes. Nothing new or unique. Stuart helps them think of names, like The Eagle and Light-Ray.

Ada's heart is hammering in her chest, knowing she will be asked soon. She is hot and nervous, which it occurs to her is what it means to be unprepared. Dad warned her about that once and the importance of avoiding it, but she did not understand. Now, though, her heart thump-thumping in her chest, she does.

Jacob says he would like to make other people be quiet with they yell. Ada tilts her head. Yes, she understands why.

As usual, Mom is sitting off to the side, pretending to read while she really watches Ada in class. Dad is looking through comic books, but he is listening, too. They will see and hear her, they will know she is unprepared. They will be disappointed in her. They will not think she is special anymore.

She can hear Uncle Stuart asking her, even as she sees Dad go to stand by Mom out of the corner of her eye. They are both clearly watching her. Her breath becomes shallow, and she thinks of her lungs, looking like those little pink wooden pieces, gasping for air.

"Ada?" Stuart asks again.

"I - I just want to be myself," she blurts out. No, that was silly. It was not imaginative. Dad said she could be anything she could imagine. Why could she not imagine something else? Why can she not think of anything better than being herself?

But Stuart smiles. "Okay. What makes you special, Ada, even if it's not a superpower?"

"I can read. I'm not afraid." The words come in a rush, again. All the little boys are looking at her strangely.

"So maybe a super librarian?" Stuart asks.

"Dad says library books have too many germs," Ada explains.

"Huh . . . okay, so maybe . . . " Stuart starts and then snaps his fingers. "Oh, I've got it, you could work at a newspaper and write book reviews as your cover. Like Clark Kent."

"Maybe," Ada says. Grandmother Fowler writes for a newspaper. Just last month, she took Ada to the big building, showing her around, the offices, the computers, and even down deep into the basement to see the big printing presses. "But at night I could use books like a flashlight to help people see things and use the books as a shield when people are afraid," Ada says.

"I think that's a great idea," Stuart says. "Do you have any ideas for a name?"

She shrugs. Who else would she be? "Just Ada."

"Okay," Stuart says, coming to lean down and write on her paper for her. "How about  _The Amazing Adventures of Ada_?"

Ada looks over at Mom and Dad, and they are holding hands. Mom is smiling and Dad winks at her. No, she is not afraid. She is amazing.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	101. The Little Mermaid

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**May 2022**

**Primary Topic: _The Little Mermaid_ by Hans Christian Andersen**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Einstein: His Life and Universe_  by Walter Isaacson,  _Out of Africa_  by Isak Dinesen,  _Cinderella_  (traditional folk tale),  _Beauty and the Beast_  by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, and the  _Harry Potter_  series by J. K. Rowling**

* * *

"Dad, catch me!"

Sheldon turned sharply toward the little voice that could pull him back from almost anything and audibly gasped.

"Ada, what are you doing? Get down! That's not safe!"

"I'll jump down! Catch me!" Ada said, her lean body perched on the iron railing around the fountain.

Frozen for a second, Sheldon quickly decided that catching her seemed the most expeditious way to get her out of the predicament. He put his arms up, and his daughter leapt effortlessly into them, never once doubting her father would be there to catch her.

"Ada Fowler Cooper, don't ever do that again!" he admonished into her ear.

She pushed away from his chest to look at him. "But, Dad, it's only three feet tall!"

"One meter, actually; we're in Europe. Regardless, you know you shouldn't play around water like that. Water can be fun but it can also be dangerous," Sheldon said, regretting the swimming lessons once again.

"Also, Ada," Amy finally said, stepping closer from where she had been taking photographs, "that is not a jungle gym. It's rude and disrespectful to climb on things that don't belong to you without asking permission first."

"I'm sorry," Ada said softly.

Sheldon took a deep breath. "And now you don't get any Rødgrød med fløde today."

"But Dad!" Ada said at the same time Amy said, "Sheldon!"

He turned toward his wife. "What?"

"You know how I feel about using food as either a punishment or a bribery. It sets up emotional attachments to food that are hard to break as an adult."

"This is all your fault, you know. You're just teaching her to be fearless by going on all these rides."

Amy raised her eyebrows and then waved her arms. "Look around you! We're at Tivoli! It would be a crime to take a child here and not revel in all the joy it has to offer."

Before he could answer, Ada pulled herself in closer again, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear, "Mama and I love the rides."

One of the secrets of fatherhood Sheldon had learned was that when his wife and his daughter were in agreement, his opinion mattered very little. "I know," he sighed. He gently lowered Ada to the ground. "Have you learned your lesson about water safety and respecting the property of others?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I wouldn't dream of tearing you and your mother away from your reckless rides."

"We're on vacation," Ada said. "There are less rules on vacation."

"Fewer rules, not less. But not all rules are gone, remember, we talked about that?" Sheldon looked down sharply at Ada. He didn't want her to get any more anarchist thoughts. Then he smiled softly. "But, obviously fewer rules, as your mother is allowing you to eat Rødgrød med fløde on a daily basis."

Amy smiled over at him and put her hand out for Ada. "Come on, Ada. We still have to do the Star Tower, you ought to be tall enough for that."

Then they set out in front of him, his two ladies, looking for their next ride. They were having so much fun, even if they were giving him minor heart attacks. There was no way Sheldon would get on those scary rides, and he hadn't wanted to allow his most precious offspring, the first of her kind, on them. But Amy had leapt at the chance to ride The Ferris Wheel and The Dragon Boats and The Flying Truck and something called The Spinning Top that made Sheldon green just looking at it. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him; Amy embracing new experiences, Amy throwing herself into each experience as fully as possible, Amy passing that along to Ada.

He had watched them from just outside the rails of all the rides, both of them screaming with delight, coming off laughing, their hair messed in the Danish wind. Ada running to him to tell him all about it, as though he had not just watched it from afar, panicking slightly when he lost sight of them in some tunnel or turn.

Today was the halfway point of their trip, and he was surprised to find himself sad. This, their first real family vacation. Granted, it all revolved around Amy's conference, but here they were: a happy little nucleus exploring this beautiful European city. Not that it started that way.

* * *

How could such a compact, well-organized city have the most spiraling airport in the world? Honestly, why was it such a long walk from the plane to baggage claim? He was exhausted from jet lag, his knees and legs ached from being cramped in coach for such a long flight, Amy looked like a walking coma, and Ada had refused to carry her own backpack, so he was forced to carry the tiny pink floral monstrosity though the Copenhagen airport. So much for blending in.

Sheldon's hope that the moving walkways would speed up their journey only backfired. "Ada, stay on the right if you're not going to walk quickly." "Ada, don't try to stop the rails from moving. You're not strong enough, you might hurt yourself, and that sound is atrocious." "Ada, get out of the way. Let these faster people pass." "Ada, hang on to the rail, you are not the Silver Surfer." "Ada, get back here, no running!" "Ada, either wear your backpack appropriately or stop touching it." "No, you may not have a snack, we are walking through an airport." "Ada say 'Undskyld mig.' Or at least 'Excuse me.' Did you leave your manners at home?" "Ada, stop that!"

What had happened to Ada's normally calm and well-behaved self, who had breezed through the lengthy flight with impeccable behavior, even though she seemed incapable of sleep? She had quietly played Sushi Go with him and watched cartoons on her little screen, grinning at him from beneath her headphones. What had happened to that girl? Sheldon kept looking back at Amy, hanging listlessly over the rail, for her assistance, but she looked completely absent. What in their relationship made her think he was capable of corralling a slap-happy, hyper, in-desperate-need-of-sleep four-year-old in a foreign airport by himself? Had she completely forgotten to whom she was married? And this was her idea, that they should all go to Copenhagen together for her conference, it would be fun!

By the time they arrived at baggage claim, everything was on Sheldon's last nerve. The obnoxious bell sounded and the conveyer belt started moving, and Ada ran away again, rushing to see the first suitcase drop.

"Ada Fowler Cooper! Get your hinny back here this instant!" He had roared it above the din of fellow travelers, above the din of the baggage carousel, above the din of the airport announcements to not leave one's baggage unattended. He stormed over and grabbed her forcefully by the arm. "Right now!" He tugged hard, pulling her away.

"Oww!"

"Sheldon!" Amy snapped at him, pulling his hand off Ada's arm, the first words she had uttered since they landed. Ada curled into her mother's outstretched arms, sobbing into her chest. "What are you doing? She's just a tired child!"

"She's acting like a complete hooligan." Sheldon crossed his arms. "Being tired is not an excuse for her behavior. I'm jet lagged, too!"

"So am I," Amy shot back, glaring over Ada's head. "But at least I'm not acting like an ass."

Sheldon's head snapped in shock, both at Amy's volume and word choice. And then he realized the din had quieted as everyone's eyes were upon them.  _We haven't even been in this country thirty minutes, and we're already the ugly Americans._

He took a deep, cleansing breath and said as calmly as he could, "There's a bench over there. I'll get the suitcases and come find you."

Amy just gathered Ada closer to her, still crying, and walked away without any acknowledgement. Sheldon looked around sheepishly, as people quickly averted their eyes.

Once their suitcases came down the conveyor, Sheldon struggled to get them upright and wheeled them over to Amy and Ada, looking pitiful on the bench. They didn't speak as they got up to follow him, as they got in the taxi queue, as they all settled in the back seat. No sooner were they settled than Ada curled up on Amy's lap and promptly fell asleep. Sheldon didn't have the willpower to argue about seat belts. He and Amy turned away from each other, each looking out opposite windows as overcast mid-day Copenhagen passed.

Sheldon gritted his teeth at check-in, which he had to handle completely by himself because Amy was dealing with a whimpering and whining Ada, unhappy at being woken up when they arrived.

"Mama, hold me," she whined, tears streaming down her face, clutching Amy's waist.

"No, sweetheart, you're too big for me to carry anymore. And your father has to deal with the suitcases."

Somehow, through the tears and the gritted teeth, they made it to the room. Sheldon had been prepared, he thought, for a small European hotel room, but he groaned when he saw it. They were all going to be caged in here like animals!

"It will be fine, Sheldon," Amy said. "It's just a place to sleep for a couple of weeks."

While they had that little exchange, Ada had gone straight to the bed, curled up on Sheldon's side and promptly fallen back to sleep, her shoes and jacket still on.

"Look! Already she's sleeping in our bed! I agreed to share a room, not to share our bed with her!" Sheldon protested. "We are not starting that!"

"The couch isn't pulled out into her bed yet! She's used to sleeping on a bed! Besides, it's just for a little nap." Amy took a deep ragged breath. "Help me with the pull-out, then we'll move her so you have somewhere to rest."

"Rest? I'm not napping! The best cures for transmeridian induced desynchronosis are exposure to UV light and increased oxygen flow from mild exercise. We should all go for a walk together, get our bodies on this schedule as soon as possible!"

"You can go for a walk, but Ada and I are taking a nap. It's one here, I'll set the alarm for a couple of hours, it will just be like an afternoon nap at home." Amy had already removed her shoes, and she padded toward the bed as she spoke.

"But Amy! As the special guest and the keynote speaker at Europe's most prestigious neuroscience conference you should know exactly how to reduce the effects of jet lag!"

"You know what, Sheldon?" Amy snapped. "I think you'd better go for that walk. Alone. To protect you from bodily harm."

He threw his hands up. "Fine."

"Fine."

Even though his skin was crying out for a shower and a change of clothes after having been unwashed for so many hours, he turned sharply and left. Once he stormed out of the hotel, the glass door swinging behind him, he realized he had no plan. This wasn't at all how he thought the afternoon would be progressing. He shoved his fists into his jacket pockets and took off walking.

The map was in his mind, of course, from when he had showed it to Ada before they left, huddled over the dining room table, planning their activities while Amy would be busy. His legs took him to the train station, just a few blocks away. Despite the need for increased oxygen and mild exercise, he sat down on a bench inside, as close as he could get without a ticket, and watched the trains, coming and going, people arriving and leaving. These fast, clean electronic European trains weren't as soothing as noisy, clacking American trains, but they were orderly and on time. He watched and studied the patterns of the station, making order out of chaos. As always, this organizing of things around him calmed him and lulled him into something like meditation; not sleep, of course, but enough of a tranquil place that he had to pull himself back, to come to the present in a shudder. He looked down at his watch, surprised at long he had been.

He walked back to the room and opened the door softly, almost running into Amy in the small space, as she exited the bathroom, smelling like soap and looking more like herself.

"Perfect timing." She smiled, and Sheldon knew the shower had cleansed more than just her body. "How about you take a shower while I get Ada up? Then we can go eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Very well." Sheldon nodded and then leaned over to kiss her softly on the forehead.

By the time he was clean and dressed, Ada was awake and only slightly cranky.

"Did you pass anything that looked good?" Amy asked him.

"There's a bakery café type place across the street from the train station. It might be easy. And it's close," he said, embarrassed that he had not walked as much as he planned.

"Close and easy are perfect," Amy said, nodding her head in Ada's direction.

At the café, they discovered that the only food other than pastries were hot dogs. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" Sheldon asked Amy.

"Hot dogs!" Ada said. "Like when Daddy cooks!"

Amy chuckled.

"Hey! I microwave a vegetable, too!" Sheldon protested.

"No, it's good, Sheldon. Ada's excited," Amy said. "Listen, Ada, these are different hot dogs, Danish hot dogs. Won't that be fun?"

Stepping up to the counter, Amy ordered two of the traditional Danish-style hot dogs and then asked if it was possible to get a hot dog with just ketchup.

"We don't have American ketchup," the clerk said. "But we can make one with just remoulade sauce. We do have a children's menu, let me get you one."

"No, thank you, one with just remoulade is fine." Then Amy turned slightly and smirked at Sheldon. "It's actually for my husband."

The clerk smiled, and for once Sheldon cursed how well the Danes all spoke English. The food came, and Amy and Ada dove into their hot dogs covered in pickled vegetables, which looked disgusting to him.

"How's your remoulade sauce?" Amy asked him.

Sheldon shrugged. "Meh. It's a good thing I'm so hungry."

"Mine is awesome!" Ada said, the edges of her mouth coated with the sauce. Amy laughed and handed her a napkin.

Afterwards, they walked back toward their hotel and past it to the canal on the other side of the street. The sun had come out and was still bright, and it felt good to be outside, filling their lungs with that oxygen Sheldon said they needed.

"Ada, be careful, don't twirl," he admonished his daughter, who was walking in front of him and Amy.

"She's fine, Sheldon," Amy said. "There's at least twelve feet between us and the edge of the canal."

Just then, they were passed by a Danish family, the father with their little boy riding on his shoulders. Ada walked back to Sheldon and tugged on his jacket, "Dad, carry me like that."

"Sweetheart, remember when we talked about you're getting too big and tall to be carried anymore?" Amy said.

"Please, Daddy?" Ada tugged again.

Sheldon sighed softly. They had turned around not long ago and were headed back to the hotel for a quiet evening in and an early bed time, so it wouldn't be far. "Okay, let's try. But if you get to heavy, you have to get down when I say."

He crouched down low and gritted his teeth as Ada scrambled over him, her long legs striking the side of his glasses as she settled in. Her little hands came around and gripped the edge of his hairline. Amy laughed as he slowly stood, holding Ada's ankles. "You're both so tall, you look like a monster!"

"Let's roar!" Ada cheered above him.

"Let's not," he replied, which only made Amy laugh more. She came closer to his side and hooked her arm through his elbow. She was so much happier now, rested and feed, thrilled, he knew, to be on vacation, even a working one, with them.

"Oh, we should take a selfie," she suddenly said, stopping and letting go to pull out her phone and holding it out in front of them with the opposite arm. Sheldon looked down as she adjusted the screen, smiling not for the picture but at the ridiculous sight of him and Ada, towering over Amy next to them. The camera clicked, and Amy pulled it closer to get a better look at the photo. "Perfect."

* * *

"Ada, do you know there's A Little Mermaid statue here in Copenhagen?" Amy asked.

"Where? I want to see it!" Ada said, still eager and excited after their day.

They had slept in, even Sheldon, and spent their first full day in Copenhagen enjoying a generally lazy day. They had strolled for a bit and got their bearings and watched the changing of the guards at the palace. Now, eating dinner in the hotel restaurant after Amy and Ada had enjoyed a swim in the hotel pool, Sheldon frowned. "I'm sorry, Ada, but it's probably too far from a subway stop for us to walk. And there's nothing else close to warrant the expensive of a taxi."

"You could take her on the hop-on, hop-off bus. It stops at the statue and it also stops right here at the hotel," Amy said. "I was reading the flyer in our room about the route."

"I want to take the bus!" Ada said.

"No, I already decided we're taking the subway on our excursions. Do you know what a subway is? It's a series of trains that run underground. It's both beautiful and highly efficient," Sheldon said.

"But I wanna ride the bus! It has an upstairs! Please, please, please, please can we ride the bus? I wanna ride the bus!" Ada wiggled in her chair and pulled on Sheldon's shirt sleeve.

"Ada. I cannot hear you when you speak whining. In this family we speak English and numerous other languages, but whining is not one of them," Sheldon said firmly. "Incidentally, the word 'wanna' does not appear in any language."

"But -" Ada started.

"I don't hear anything."

"Ada," Amy intervened, "do you see that counter over there? I forgot to get a spoon. Can you be a big girl and go get me one?"

"Okay." Ada got up and Sheldon watched her walk across the hotel restaurant.

He opened his mouth to ask his wife why she needed a spoon when she was almost done eating food that did not require a spoon when -

"Sheldon, take the bus," Amy said.

"Amy, another plan has already been made. Weeks in advance. Besides, we are not encouraging whining, remember?" Sheldon said.

"I agree that you shouldn't tell her tonight, so that it does not appear that we are condoning a previously banned behavior. But tomorrow morning before you head out you can tell her you've changed your mind."

"But I haven't!" Sheldon protested. "That bus is just for tourists, anyway."

"Which we are. And the views of the city will be better from the top."

"It's probably full of germs!"

"No more than the subway. Take your wipes."

"But -"

"Take. The. Damn. Bus," Amy leaned close and hissed, slapping the table with every word.

Startled, Sheldon jumped back in his chair, but was unable to reply as Ada returned at that exact moment with the requested spoon.

"Thank you so much, sweetheart!"

* * *

Amy was right. Of course. Although he could hardly keep her sitting down, Ada's joy looking out the windows as Copenhagen slipped past was worth missing the subway for. Sheldon even found himself helping her use the provided earbuds to listen to the English language commentary, despite the fact they were only going few stops.

Other than a few excursions to children's museum in Pasadena and Dallas, Ada had never experienced an adult museum until now. Sheldon was pleased to see how calmly and seriously she absorbed everything they saw. She stayed close to him all through the National Museum of Denmark, even if he didn't have hold of her hand, asking thoughtful questions and reading the English language placards when asked. Sheldon loved watching her: not frightened at all, sure and confident. She moved from one exhibit to another very much like her mother, he thought, and that pleased him greatly.

It was at lunch in the museum's restaurant that they first tried Rødgrød med fløde, which he found strange but palatable. Ada, though, gobbled up, leaving her tongue and lips dark red from the berries. As he was attempting to wash the stains off her face, Sheldon said, "There's a special exhibit -"

"Can we go swimming?"

He frowned. "No, Ada. We're doing museums. To broaden our minds. And do not interrupt, you know that's rude."

"I'm done with this museum."

A sigh escaped his lips as he looked up from his wet napkin to her eyes. Should he push this? Amy would know what to do. On one hand, he didn't want to give into her demands; the museum was much more educational than swimming. Not to mention he'd have to accompany her swimming. And actually wear those hideous swim trunks that Amy had insisted on purchasing and packing for him. But, on the other, maybe a whole day of Danish history was too much for a four year old. And he didn't want a melt-down right next to the collection of coins and medals.

"Please, Daddy? We're doing a museum every day," Ada asked softly.

Sheldon nodded and put down the napkin. It was the Daddy that got him every time.

* * *

It was just as hot and humid and reeking of chlorine as he dreaded. Sheldon lowered himself gingerly along the edge of the pool, shivering at the feel of the water on his calves.

"Ada, listen to me very carefully," he said firmly to his bathing-suit clad daughter standing at his side, looking up to see her properly. "Do you see that black line on the bottom of the pool?" Ada nodded. "That marks one meter. You may not, I repeat, may  _not_ go beyond that line. If you do, we are returning the room immediately and you will not be allowed to swim for the remainder of this vacation. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Good. I'm going to sit here along the edge and watch you. The stairs for entrance are -"

_Splash!_ Before he could finish, Ada had jumped right off the edge into the pool, making his heart stop. And not because she had just sent water raining all over his tee shirt. "Ada!" he yelled, tensing forward to actually enter the water and pull her to safety, when her head broke the surface of the pool and she grinned at him.

"What?" she asked, her legs churning below the surface.

"Oh - I - don't jump in without warning me first."

She just dipped and disappeared again, her slender body cutting effortlessly through the pale blue water toward the other side, finally breaking the surface as her arms propelled her forward. Sheldon watched in amazement. She really could swim. Quite well, in fact. After only a few months of swimming with Amy once a week after work.

There was a commotion at the door and small group entered, a mother and two young children. Sheldon groaned silently. He had hoped he and Ada would have the pool to themselves. He watched as they arranged their things and then all entered the pool. Ada lost no time in swimming up to one of the children and speaking to her. She wasn't frightened or shy at all. Just like her mother.

"Your daughter is beautiful," the woman said, surprising him, as she swam close to him. "At least, I presume she is your daughter."

"Yes. We share many genetic physical traits," Sheldon said back, tearing his eyes away from Ada and the two children splashing each other at the shallowest end of the pool. Then he remembered the compliant. "Thank you. She is also a certifiable child prodigy. We had her tested."

"Oh." The woman nodded. "How old is she? Five? Six?"

"Four. But as she is in the ninetieth perceptible of height for her age, your mistake is understandable."

"I'm Clara," the woman said, putting out her hand. "From Melbourne, Australia."

Not seeing a way out, Sheldon reached out and shook it. And then quickly ducked his hand into the chlorine-infested water to rinse off at least some of the germs. "Dr. Sheldon Cooper. From Pasadena, California, United States of America."

"Are you a neuroscientist here for the conference? My husband is."

"No, but my wife is." Sheldon sat up a little straighter. "She's the keynote speaker next week."

The woman - Clara's - eyes widened. "Dr. Fowler is your wife? That's why we came this year, my husband cannot wait to hear her speak. And she's on a couple of panels, also, right?"

Sheldon nodded. When would this infernal chit-chat end? He pointedly looked over at Ada again, looking at the young boy, who appeared to be telling a story by making his hands wide to explain the size of something.

"It looks like Sam is telling her another tall tale," Clara said. "He's quite the exaggerator."

"Ada will understand it's exaggeration," Sheldon said. "She won't accept it as fact."

Clara turned in the water, studying him, he thought. "What do you do, Dr. - Cooper, was it?"

"I'm a theoretical physicist."

"So you're also here on vacation, watching the kids, like I am? We're going to London after this, just for a vacation. It's such a long flight from Australia we thought we should spend a few weeks in Europe."

"A few weeks?" Sheldon asked. "What about your own work?"

She shrugged. "It will keep." Then she looked at him. "We get more vacation time than most Americans. Besides, what's more important than that?" She waved her hand toward their children, who were swimming now, across the width of the pool, Ada clearly in the lead. "Isn't it fun just to be here with them? Enjoying new things with them? Before they grow up?"

Just then, Ada reached the edge close to him and called, "Look, Dad, I won!"

"Well done," Sheldon said. Then he took a deep breath as she swam away from him.

* * *

_Should I close the blinds?_  The shafts of afternoon sun were crossing the hotel room, about to stream across Ada's face and wake her. Swimming with her new friends had exhausted her, and, after a bath to wash her hair, she'd fallen sound asleep on Amy's pillow even though she rarely napped now; naps weren't even scheduled in the age four class at the daycare. Sheldon looked at his watch. She should probably be waking up soon, so he would let the sun do its job.

Indeed, Ada murmured something and squeezed her face before reaching up to rub her eyes. Sheldon watched her as she first sat, and then swung her legs out from under the blanket he'd thrown over her to pad over to him on the love seat.

"Hey, kid, did you sleep well?" he asked softly. She nodded in reply, brushing her hair away from her face.

"What are you reading?" she asked, curling up next to him, her voice still sleepy.

" _Einstein: His Life and Universe_  by Walter Isaacson," he answered. "Your mother recommended it. She's quite the Walter Isaacson fan."

"Can we read it together?" she asked.

Sheldon looked down at her. "I'd like that very much. But it's physics. Science. You seem to prefer the arts." It pained him to say it, but it was true.

"Can't I like both?"

He grinned. "Yes. You can like both."

And so the rhythm of their days was settled. A ride on the hop-on, hop-off bus to the museum of the day, lunch, and then they would return to the hotel pool to swim. Every day, Clara and her children were there, and, although some small talk was exchanged, Clara seemed to sense Sheldon's uneasiness with strangers and often left him to go engage the children in some sort of game. Sheldon still sat uncomfortably on the edge of the pool every afternoon, but he relaxed some both because Clara was clearly an accomplished swimmer herself and because Ada never once strayed near the agreed-upon boundary line.

After a bath for her, she would nap while he read. Then, before Amy returned from her meetings and classes, excited to tell him what she'd learned and shared, Ada would curl up in the crook of his arm and they read about a famous physicist together.

Finally, the weekend came, and Amy was free to join them. They went to the Thorvaldsens Museum as was Amy's wish. Sheldon was not a fan of sculpture but, most importantly, it was Amy's pick. Ada seemed to enjoy it, too, holding Amy's hand, soaking it all in so seriously. It appealed, he realized, to her artistic bent. Sheldon was content to walk a pace or two behind, to watch them together. They were fortunate to be alone in the most famous hallway of all, with the cobalt blue ceiling and rays of sunlight, and he took a picture of them from behind that he quickly changed to the home screen on his phone.

Then they all went together to see The Little Mermaid statue, which was too crowded, but they still managed to obtain a passable picture from a kindly stranger with the sculpture in the background. "For our Christmas card," Amy insisted. They had better luck in City Hall Square, where they got an adorable picture of Ada on Hans Christian Andersen's knee before walking up Stroget.

"I'm going in the Royal Copenhagen store," Amy said.

"That's shopping, not sightseeing," Sheldon pointed out.

"I didn't say it was sightseeing." Without another word she opened the door and whisked inside. Seeing no choice but to follow, Sheldon sighed deeply and followed them. He could tell from the way Amy's fingers gently brushed their surface that she especially admired the fine blue and white teapots, but she left them on the shelf. Instead, she led them up to the top floor where they found Christmas ornaments, and she and Ada selected one.

In line at the cashier's, Sheldon leaned in and said, "If you want a teapot, get a teapot."

"No," Amy shook her head, "it's too expensive for something frivolous."

Sheldon shrugged, but then his phone chimed and his took it out of his pocket to read a text from Leonard that made him smile.

* * *

"Now, Ada, you need to go to your own bed," Amy said firmly, turning off the television. They had all become strangely enthralled by some sort of Scandinavian lumberjack competition, and it was later than it should have been for Ada's bedtime. It was probably all that cotton candy they let her eat earlier at Tivoli.

"But it's still light out!" their daughter protested, from where she was sitting between them in bed, watching the small screen with them.

"Ada," Sheldon said firmly, "do not play dumb. It's unbecoming. I clearly explained the concept of alalemma to you. Tomorrow is Monday, and your mother has an important panel in the morning. Besides, it's Book Club Night for your mother and me."

Amy turned to him, surprise clearly on her face. "We're having Book Club Night? Here? Now?"

He understood that she might be confused that he was suggesting a discussion at this time of night, when he and Amy had taken to reading silently in bed so that Ada could fall asleep on the love seat. But it was still Book Club Night, in Europe and everywhere else. "Of course. Isn't that the whole reason we chose to read _Out of Africa_ in the original Danish? Both to familiarize ourselves with the language and to discuss it in Isak Dinesen's native country?"

"Well, actually, Sheldon . . . I just couldn't." Amy shook her head. "I just didn't have the time or the energy to learn Danish, even for Book Club. Please don't be upset."

Sheldon let out a breath. "I'm not upset. I . . . um . . . may have downloaded it in English to finish it. Because I, also, didn't have the time or energy to learn Danish like that."

"Sheldon Cooper!" Amy said, but she was laughing.

"Why is that funny?" Ada asked.

He looked down at her. "I have no idea. But, even without Book Club Night, your mother is correct. It is time for you to go to your own bed."

"I read a book this month. And I never get to come to Book Club!" Ada protested.

About to open his mouth and reprimand her again, Sheldon stopped when Amy put a hand on his arm. He looked over at her, and she tilted her head slightly at him. Oh, Amy thought it was a idea worthy of consideration. He looked back at Ada, her big blue eyes watching him closely.

"Ada, do you know what a precedent is?" he asked. She shook her head. "It when something happens, and it becomes the first time that happens, because it keeps happening. Technically, an action that is regarded as an example or guide to be considered in subsequent similar circumstances. What is about to happen is not, I repeat,  _not_  a precedent. This is only happening because we are on vacation and because you made a valid point. And the only book that I am certain we have all read this month is  _The Little Mermaid_."

His daughter hopped with excitement in her spot. "So I get to stay here and come to Book Club? We'll talk about  _The Little Mermaid_?"

Amy laughed. "Yes, let's talk about _The Little Mermaid_. Did you enjoy it?"

"I liked the movie better," Ada said.

"Didn't we all?" Sheldon murmured, and Amy smiled at him.

"Why did you like the movie better?" Amy asked.

"It was happy," Ada explained. "I liked her hair. And the songs."

"Let's not sing them again," Sheldon blurted out.

"Why not?" Ada asked.

"Yes, Dad, why not?" But Amy was smiling at him.  _Drat!_ She was clearly taunting him, daring him to tell his daughter that it was rapidly becoming apparent she could not carry in a tune in the proverbial bucket.

"Um, Ada, perhaps you and I should work on singing them together. To better understand tone and beat and harmony. You know -" he looked pointedly at Amy "- for educational reasons."

Amy chuckled but looked back down at Ada. "What did you like about the book?"

Ada shrugged. "I liked the pictures of the pearls and the jewels for clothes."

"Well, yes, those were fancy clothes, weren't they? But did you know those illustrations were not original to the text as Hans Christian Andersen wrote it?"

Shaking her head, Ada shifted on the bed between them, tucking her feet under her. "I don't understand the ending."

"Join the club, kid," Sheldon said. "It's all superstition for lesser minds, Ada. That humans have souls that live after death. Additionally, there are no daughters of the air that earn their souls after three hundreds years of hogwash."

"Sheldon," Amy said sharply.

"What?" he asked looking back at her.

"Tone it down," she whispered. Then she looked back at Ada. " _The Little Mermaid_ is a fairy tale, like  _Cinderella_ or  _Beauty and the Beast_. Fairy tales often use imaginary supernatural elements to make a point, a way to explain something to the reader. The writer and the readers know they're not true. But -" she brushed some of Ada's hair away from her face "- sometimes they are confusing. It's okay to be confused by something you read. Because then you think about it more until you have an idea about what it might mean, and that is exercising your brain."

"What did this book mean?" Ada asked.

Amy let out a long, slow breath. Sheldon looked at her intently. How would she answer this? Sheldon, after reading it, was actually shocked Amy had procured this book for Ada. It was one thing to want to read a book by an author of a place you were visiting, it was another to encourage the ingestion of misogynistic nonsense in your child. Maybe she didn't realize how the original story went.

"It's a cautionary tale," Amy finally said.

Sheldon grunted in amusement.  _Good save, Amy Farrah Fowler, good save._  Her eye's flicked up to his and he nodded.

"What's a cautionary tale?"

"That's when a story gives you examples of what not to do, because if you do those things then something bad happens to you," Amy said.

"Like when she died?" Ada asked.

"Yes. That doesn't mean in real life that you'd die from the same thing, it's a bit of an exaggeration. What things did the little mermaid do in the book that she shouldn't have?" Amy asked.

"Umm," Ada wiggled. "She went to see the sea witch when she wasn't supposed to."

"Yes, very good," Sheldon said. "Fortune tellers, tarot card readers, sea witches, all bad ideas."

"But," Ada turned to him, "sometimes you talk about Harry Potter and there are witches in that."

"Oh." Sheldon's eyebrows dipped, and he looked over at Amy in panic. But she was not helping at all, with that smirk and that helpless turning up of her hands! "Those are good witches, not bad witches. They would never steal your voice. That was something else the little mermaid shouldn't have done. By selling her voice, she wasn't able to talk any more, to explain her ideas."

"She could have written them down. Like a book," Ada said.

Looking back at Amy again, Sheldon whispered, "Why did we let her read this?"

"Shhh," Amy admonished. "Listen, Ada, all of that is very true, that going to the sea witch after her father told her not to go and giving up her voice were bad things. Especially disobeying her father. But do you know what the worst thing the little mermaid did is? It's a very important idea, and I want you to understand it."

"What?" Ada said solemnly.

"She did all of those bad things and she gave up her ability to communicate what she was thinking and she was in constant pain and she turned her back on everyone she loved just because of a boy -"

"A prince!" Ada interrupted.

"It doesn't matter. If the boy, even if he's a prince, is the right one for you, he will not ask you give up any of those things. And you should never, ever believe that volunteering to give up those things - things you love, your family, one of your talents, your brilliance - are necessary for the boy to like you.  _Never._ If you think they are, then he is not the boy for you."

Sheldon watched Amy, her voice so firm and direct but her eyes soft and pleading. Was it possible Amy did know exactly what happened in this fairy tale and that's why she wanted Ada to read it? Or was it just coincidence? Lately, Sheldon knew he had been missing out on some deeper conversations between Amy and Ada. Amy had taken over most of the bath time duties lately, saying she was trying to get Ada comfortable with showers; and, while that was true, she had also shared a couple of additional tidbits of conversations that were had about further details Ada asked about procreation and modesty and other such topics for which he was relieved to be absent. If Amy was content to handle these topics on her own, then he was content to let her. Amy, wonderful Amy, always seemed so prepared, and she never floundered for words. He was so very lucky to have her in his life, making it easy for him to just be the embarrassed, passive bystander for those topics. But maybe, for this most important of lessons, Ada should know how he felt.

"Ada, come here," he said softly, putting his arms out for Ada to scramble into his lap. "As usual, your mother is correct. And it's not just correct because she says so. Or because I say so. This -" he put his hand on the top of her head "-  _this_ is what makes you special. And loved. This is what you should be proud of: your mind. Your beautiful mind. It is the greatest gift you have been given, and you need to protect it and cherish it and never treat it as though it is less than your greatest treasure. Not for anyone. Not for a friend, not for a boy, not for a girl, not for anyone." He took a deep breath. "If someone cannot love you for this, then they cannot love you as you deserve to be loved. Do you understand me?"

Add nodded slowly, and Sheldon tipped his face down to kiss the top of her head. "And no more Danish fairy tales. They're wretched. We'll find something better to read next."

"We're reading about Einstein," Ada said.

"Yes, we are." Smiling, he gave her another kiss and patted her back. "Off to bed with you, my littlest lady."

There was a small hiccup sound from Amy, and he looked over to see her smiling at him as though he'd just hung the moon. And a tear sliding down her cheek. Although he could not explain this mix of emotions on her face, he felt it nonetheless.

"Goodnight, Dad," Ada broke him away from Amy.

He turned and smiled at her. "Goodnight. Sweet dreams."

Ada knee walked across the bed, "Goodnight, Mom. Are you crying?"

Amy shook her head and wiped her face even as she gathered Ada up into a hug. "Only because I'm happy."

Sheldon watched as she slid out of bed to tuck Ada into her fold-out couch, kissing her the forehead, and turning out the overhead lights. Instead of grabbing her Kindle before climbing back into bed, Amy just curled up, resting her head against his chest, and he pulled her tighter.

"Aren't you going to read?" Sheldon whispered.

"I love you for all of this," she replied instead.

"All of what?"

"You, this trip, all you're doing for me, taking Ada swimming, that silly hop-on, hop-off bus, today at Tivoli, the things you said just now. I just hope I love you as much as you deserve to be loved."

He glanced over her head at Ada, whose long, thin backside was facing him. She was probably still awake, but she was looking away. He kissed Amy's cheek. "Who do you think I learned all that from?"


	102. Priceless

**Priceless**

* * *

_"I love you for all of this," she replied instead._

_"All of what?"_

_"You, this trip, all you're doing for me, taking Ada swimming, that silly hop-on, hop-off bus, today at Tivoli, the things you said just now. I just hope I love you as much as you deserve to be loved."_

_He glanced over her head at Ada, whose long, thin backside was facing him. She was probably still awake, but she was looking away. He kissed Amy's cheek. "Who do you think I learned all that from?"_

* * *

He never ceased to surprise her with the things he said. The funny things, the outrageous things, but especially the beautiful things. Sheldon Cooper, her favorite sentimental old fool.

Amy squeezed tight against him in the Danish hotel room, relishing the feel of his arm around her shoulders, the gentle kiss on her cheek. There were times that she wasn't sure she deserved him. She couldn't believe it when he agreed to accompany her to Europe for two weeks, even though it meant he would be alone most days with Ada in a foreign country without his work or his whiteboard. However, he agreed with Amy that it was good to show Ada new experiences, that after the stress of her recent testing and the decision they had had to make related to her education, it would be good to just get away from reality for a bit.

Not that he was perfect, mind you. His behavior at the airport had been appalling. And Amy thought she was doing to have to strangle him to make him understand this was Ada's vacation, too; that it was not just all about his agenda and desires. But then everything seemed to settle, and she always found them curled up reading on the love seat in the hotel room when she returned every evening, both of them brimming with stories about their day: the bus ride, the museum du jour, lunch, and swimming. Amy laughed and chuckled and looked appropriately surprised at just the right moments. They had this unique way of telling stories, trading sentences back and forth, the same movements with their hands and eyebrows, and she loved watching them reflect off of each. She was actually jealous of them, they were so clearly have a good time, even though Sheldon grumbled about having to wear swim trunks and dangle his legs into a public pool. As much as she was indulging in the accolades and mental stimulation at her neuroscience conference, it did sound like maybe they were having more fun.

And, tonight! How long had these unseen depths been lurking within her husband? She never ceased to be touched and surprised every time he pulled back the curtain on his deepest, most emotional thoughts. It was not that she hadn't known he was capable of such feelings; first she had hoped, then she had faith, then she believed, and then she knew. She had known for a long time. But every single time, it came with the same level of fulfillment as the first time you realize that your hope and faith were not in vain.

She was content to stay cuddled with Sheldon, but then he whispered, "Well, can I read?"

"Oh, of course," she said, pulling away. The sun was still up in Copenhagen, although it was starting its descent, and it was not yet their normal bedtime. She reached for her Kindle, and sat next to him in the hotel bed, both of them lost in their reading by the glow of their screens, silent so that Ada would fall asleep as darkness gradually permeated the room.

Ten o'clock on the dot must have occurred, because Sheldon took off his glasses, shut his Kindle, and glided down under the white duvet in rapid succession. "Are you staying up to read?" he asked softly from his side of the bed.

Amy looked over at Ada's form; she had shifted once or twice, but now she was clearly asleep based on her breathing. "No."

Taking off her own glasses and closing her own Kindle, Amy slithered under the covers to join Sheldon. She pressed closer to him, enjoying the feel of his body heat next to hers.

"Are you tired?" she whispered.

"I don't understand the question. It's ten o'clock."

"Yes, I know it's ten o'clock. But," she pressed her lips against his cheek, "we've stayed up past our bedtime before."

"I don't - oh. Why are you even asking?! Ada is right there!" Even though he was still whispering, his voice had acquired a hysterical tone.

"Shh, calm down. Ada is sound asleep. We'll be very, very quiet. And slow. You like it slow," Amy whispered in what she hoped was a seductive tone, arching closer to him again.

Sheldon pulled away. "We agreed, Amy."

"It might be fun. Daring."

"Cheap," he said sharply. "It will be cheap. It will make us cheap."

Amy recoiled. "You think I'm cheap?"

"That is  _not_  what I said. I said -"

"Never mind," she interrupted him, rolling over to present her back to him.

"Amy?" he whispered.

"It's ten o'clock, Sheldon. Go to sleep."

* * *

Unsure if it was the sound of the shower or his absence that woke her, Amy rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. 6:10. Early even for Sheldon. She glanced over at Ada, curled up in the sunrise. But her dark eyelashes were innocently spread on her cheeks as she slumbered away.

Running her palm down her face, Amy got out of bed and walked to that bathroom, opening the door carefully and shutting it silently behind her. "Sheldon?"

"Yes?" he answered from under the stream of water, as he scrubbed his hair with his fingertips. Being such a small space, only a glass partition separated the bathtub from the rest of the room.

Instead of replying, she lifted her nightgown over her head and stepped out of her panties and stepped into the shower next to him.

"There's only one shower head in here. You'll get cold," he said, throwing his head back to rinse out the shampoo.

"It's okay. It's not really about the shower."

"We're not doing that, either," he said softly, turning away from her.

"No, I know." She bit her lip and tried not to shiver, as she stood naked in the white tub, only random sprays of water hitting her and making her colder. "Sheldon, I'm sorry. For last night. You're right, we agreed on something. I shouldn't have asked you to change that. And Ada was right there."

"I'm sorry, too," he said quietly, picking up the bar of soap from its small alcove but still not turning it around. "I shouldn't have used the word cheap. You're not cheap, Amy."

"No, that was my fault. You're right, that's not what you said. I purposely chose to misinterpret you." Amy crossed her arms to preserve body what little body heat she could. "Sheldon, turn around."

He did so, and she put her hand up to touch his face. "Are we okay?"

"Of course we're okay," he shrugged. "It was just a tiff, that's all."

Amy smiled. "Yes, just a tiff. It's water under the bridge now."

The corners of his lips turned up. Then he said, "Your hand is freezing."

"I'm freezing. Move out of my way. I'm getting under that hot water."

Shaking his head as he shifted past in the tiny space, Sheldon mumbled, "I told you so."

* * *

If Sheldon seemed more quiet than normal at breakfast, it was forgotten when he and Ada were in their usual spot when she returned to the room that evening. The days started to fold into one another again, in the same pattern, although Amy found herself becoming ever more anxious about her talk on Friday morning.

"Why?" Sheldon asked one night out at yet another small local restaurants they were trying. "You were invited. You've received compliments already on your other panels."

"I know. It's just . . . all I have are my initial hypothesis and some early findings. My study is almost over, and, although I think I may have discovered something or the idea of something, another study will be needed to determine if I'm correct. Time and further research could still prove me wrong, just as easily as it could prove me right."

"This is a scientific meeting. The others will understand that. I've reviewed your presentation, you always use the correct language and terms. You are not claiming to have proven anything yet," Sheldon said.

"It's still a lot of pressure, I guess," Amy shrugged.

"You'll be great. Remember, if you get nervous, just look for Ada and I."

"You're coming?" Amy asked, her eyes wide.

"Where else would I be? This is the primary reason we came to Copenhagen," Sheldon's eyebrows dipped.

"I guess I just thought you'd be off with Ada again."

"Why wouldn't I want to expose Ada to the brilliant mind that is her mother? Her mother being successful?" Sheldon asked.

"It'll be fun, Mom," Ada said, digging into her potatoes.

Amy smiled at her and then back to Sheldon.

* * *

"FYI - we have plans for dinner this evening," Sheldon said abruptly over breakfast in the hotel restaurant on Thursday morning.

"We do?" Amy asked, her spoon hallway to her mouth. "More than the usual?"

"I mentioned Clara and her children, whom we have seen every day at the pool?" Amy nodded, taking her bite. "I thought perhaps I should find a way to thank her. She's been very kind to Ada. And helpful to me . . . in regards to the water."

Amy bit her tongue, knowing that Clara had made it possible for Sheldon to never actually get more than his shins wet.

"I thought perhaps we should all go out to eat tonight. Nothing fancy, as the children will be present, but we'd pay, of course." Amy lowered her spoon and looked carefully at Sheldon, who had shifted slightly so that he wasn't looking directly at her. "Her husband is a neuroscientist himself, here at the conference. You may have already met him. You can talk shop, if you like. Or it would be just a way to take your mind off tomorrow."

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"Is that all?" She felt a nagging . . . something.

"Why wouldn't it be?" And then he turned to Ada. "Would you like to go out to dinner with Sam and Evie?"

Shaking the feeling away, Amy took another bite of her cereal.

* * *

"Oh, Sheldon," she breathed out deeply, lifting the teapot from its box. "You really shouldn't have."

"Yes, I should have. I saw how much you admired it. It will be your souvenir," he said simply, but his eyes were bright and smiling in the candlelight.

Amy looked over at him, and her joy was so great she almost felt like crying. Here, on their last full day in Copenhagen, he had managed surprise her yet again. Repeatedly. And not just with the teapot she wanted.

Despite the confidence she felt in her work and Sheldon's little pep talk, her stomach was still in butterflies prior to her lecture. But her loves were there, as promised, and she concentrated on Sheldon every time she felt her voice want to waver. The only time he took his eyes off of her were the few times he had to lean over to whisper something to Ada, to adjust something on the iPad he had brought for her. Amy had tried to find them in the crowd afterwards, but she lost him as various people came to ask her questions and share their excitement at her preliminary findings.

Rushing up the hotel room, she expected that she would have missed them, that the limit of a four-year-old's patience had been reached and they had bundled off to the museum of the day without her. But he was there, standing by the window, looking out at the canal below them.

"Sheldon?" Amy looked around the silent hotel room. "Where's Ada?"

He turned. "She's spending the day with Clara and her family. They are going to Tivoli. Ada will enjoy going again."

"You - you arranged a baby sitter? Here?"

Sheldon's eyebrows dipped. "Do you disapprove? You met them last night, you said you liked them and had an enjoyable evening. You witnessed for yourself that they are trustworthy and reliable people." He sighed. "Yes, you're right, I should have asked."

"No. I mean, yes, I would have preferred to have been consulted before we sent our child off for a day in a strange city. But you are correct I would have agreed. I have no objections to the babysitters you selected." Stepping closer, she reached for his hand, understanding now that he had this planned all week, thus his evasiveness at breakfast yesterday morning. "I'm just surprised. Why?"

"You said you had no other panels or classes you really wanted to attend today after your talk, that the conference is wrapping up. I thought we could spend the day together, just you and I. Sightseeing. I've arranged a private tour of The Royal Library, including the old library, Danish Hall, and The Black Diamond. There's some exhibitions there you'll probably enjoy, as well. After a brief lunch, there's an English language lecture at the Thorvaldsens Museum, and I know how taken you were with that. Then back here to change for a nice dinner. We have reservations." He licked his lips and shrugged slightly. "You once told me that you imagined yourself traveling with your someone someday."

"Oh, Sheldon!" She launched herself into his arms, resting her cheek against his chest.

"So that's a yes?" he asked, bringing his arms around her.

"Of course!" she answered.

And now, hours later, she found herself sitting in one of Copenhagen's nicest restaurants, wearing her fancy dress, Sheldon in the suit he insisted on packing, having had one of the most wonderful days of her life.

"Here, we should put it back in the box before dessert comes," Sheldon interrupted her memories.

"Yes." Amy nodded. They repacked the teapot in its box and slid it back into the nondescript bag that Sheldon had pulled out from under their hotel bed as they left for dinner with a soft "you'll see" reply to Amy's quizzical look. Just in time, as dessert did in fact arrive. Selecting a pastry off the beautiful silver plate, she took a bite. "Mmmmm," she said. "For some reason I thought Danishes were only for breakfast."

"Catering to Americans, I expect," Sheldon said, wiping crumbs off his mouth. "Now even we are guilty of perpetrating this decline in traditional Danish lifestyle."

"If it's this good, I don't care." They ate in that easy silence that accompanies a good partner and good food, until Amy took a drink of her tea. "Sheldon, as much as I appreciate all this - I really do, today has been wonderful - may I ask why?"

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Does there have to be a why?"

"Well, no, I guess not, but I know you pretty well and there's always a why."

Sheldon lowered the last bite of his pastry back to his plate. "We were supposed to have a Date Night this week," he said, with a little shrug.

"And? Because this wasn't just a Date Night, I think."

She waited until finished he swallowing and looked up her. "I wanted you to know how much you are worth. That you're priceless."

"Oh," Amy said softly. Despite her sticky fingers and the cluttered end-of-meal table, her hand found his on the table cloth. "I thought we were okay."

His eyebrows dipped behind his glasses. "We are. We were. I promise. It was just a tiff. Amy, this isn't me making up for anything. This is because I wanted to to do this for you." He leaned forward, wrapping his hand around hers. "There were lots of reasons: You needed to relax because this is your vacation, too. I wanted you to know how proud I was of you and how excellent your lecture was today. You've always wanted to travel with me. I wanted to go to a museum with an adult. As much as I love and am proud of our daughter, she could never replace you. I missed hearing what you would say at each museum we went to without you, I kept wondering what you would say. Plus, you wouldn't make me go swimming afterwards. And we really were scheduled to have a Date Night. Why do you think I brought my suit?"

Amy squeezed his fingers and he squeezed back. "I love you, too."

They walked back to the hotel, Amy's arms looped through his, her head leaning against his bicep, Sheldon's other hand carrying the bag with the new teapot. Two lovers on a perambulation, soaking in the last night of their travels together. Before the lengthy and dreaded flight home, before the recovery, before the real world rushed back in on them.

"When do we get Ada?" Amy asked as they got in the elevator.

"They are going to bring her to our room, but they promised not until after nine. I was very clear on that. Nine o'clock at the earliest." Sheldon pressed the button to their floor.

"Nine? So late? After her bedtime?"

"It may be even later, as they may stay to watch the fireworks. But I'm hopeful the late night may help her sleep on the plane tomorrow. Regardless, we will not be disturbed before nine."

The ding of the elevator as it stopped on their floor matched the ding in her mind. "How much time do we have?"

"An hour and half," Sheldon said as they exited.

Amy took his hand again as they walked down the hallway, her heart tripping with excitement. Once he slid the card through he door, Sheldon pushed the door open and said, "After you."

He barely got the door shut behind them before Amy pushed him against its emergency exit route map and pulled his face down. It was not soft, it was not hesitant; instead, it is the kiss she'd been waiting two weeks for, no guilt about the events of Book Club night, only anticipation and gratitude and love.

Finally, their lungs forced them to break apart, and Sheldon whispered. "Anything you want."

"Just you. Naked." Amy grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed. They kissed and caressed and tugged and unbuttoned and pulled and unhooked and Amy giggled in the sloppiest fashion, throwing their clothes everywhere, like they were newlyweds.

"Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder was a virgin. Absence makes you hornier," Amy said, reaching down the front of Sheldon's underpants

"Amy!" A pause, just a beat for him to moan. "Okay, you're right." Pushing down his underwear, he pushed her down on the bed in one smooth motion, crawling over her, bending down for her lips. He pulled back at the last second and made her reach up for him. "Like this?"

"Sure."

Sheldon grinned and moved his leg, opening hers with his knee, and she glanced down and saw the reflection of his backside in the mirror. "Wait! I have an idea."

Pausing, Sheldon looked at her. "Yes?"

"Get up." Amy pushed him gently and he complied. She rolled off the bed and spotted it crumpled in a heap on the floor. "My dress."

"Are you concerned about wrinkles? Sex doesn't usually make you practical," Sheldon asked, sitting on the bed now, naked and handsome and so ready for her.

"No. Or stains, either." Amy thrust her arms into the dress and wrapped it around her, but she tied it loosely. "I know how much you love this wrap dress. Now, you -" she pointed " - sit there, against the headboard."

He grinned as he did as she instructed. Amy chuckled at his rapid obedience, even as she reached for her glasses to put them back on, because reducing Sheldon willingly to his basest instincts always made her laugh.

"This," she whispered into a kiss, still standing at the side of the bed, before she turned around and straddled his knees backwards. "Then we can watch in the mirror."

"Watch in the mirror? But I like watching you," he protested softly.

"You'll still see me, that's the point," Amy promised, shifting, moving the hem of the dress out of the way, just before she rose up and took him in. He groaned in her ear as she leaned back against his chest. Even before she moved, she took his hand and glided it between the deep V of her dress, moaning herself as he wrapped his palm gently around her breast.

"Look," she whispered, and she watched Sheldon's eyes meet hers in the mirror. All she could see of him was his outstretched legs under her and his head over her shoulder.

"Amy, this is -"

"Shhh. I know you're unsure. And maybe embarrassed to watch us like this. This position isn't our favorite. But -" she started to rock slowly on his lap "- tell me what you want. What do you want to see?"

He whispered it in her ear just before he kissed below it, "You know I always want to see you come."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Amy felt a hum against her neck even as she heard the rustle of his free hand. It, too, slipped beneath the overlap of her aubergine wrap dress that he loved so, brushing her thigh, and she gasped when he made contact. She never ceased to be grateful for Sheldon's long limbs. "Yes," she whispered.

She watched them in the mirror, the top his head as he bent around her, kissing her neck and jaw and sucking on her ears, even as he pleasured her from behind. She lost the rhythm at some point, but he didn't seem to mind. And, then, when she came down from her climax, the first thing she saw was Sheldon's blue eyes watching over her shoulder, watching her in the mirror.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	103. Five Quarters of the Orange

**_Once again, thank you to YlvaBorealis for this book suggestion (a few months ago, YB kindly sent me a lengthy list of book titles which I have culled lately). And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2022**

**Primary Topic: _Five Quarters of the Orange_  by Joanne Harris**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Chocolat_  by Joanne Harris,  _The Gospel of Loki_  by Joanne Harris,  _Little Einstein Coloring Book_  by Jupiter Kids**

* * *

It would have been too much to call it a moral quandary, so Sheldon settled on the term philosophical although he liked that term much less. To him, a moral quandary actually seemed less quandarous. He almost never had moral quandaries; he was sure of his thoughts and actions. Besides, his mother had raised him right. But he had to admit that this particular predicament was not moral, in the sense of having to do with ethics or right versus wrong. Because there was not a correct answer, which is why it was a quandary in the first place.

Fortunately, Amy agreed. Not that Sheldon told her it was a philosophical quandary. It was best to keep any disturbing brushes with hippy-dippy notions to one's self. But when they discussed it, in halting and rather grim tones, he knew she agreed.

The quandary was thus: Cynthia Fowler had recently retired from her job writing obituaries and the occasional society wedding piece. This had resulted in a lot of additional time on her hands, and she had suggested to Amy that perhaps it would advantageous for her to share at least some of that time - "maybe one a day a week, dear" - with Ada. Instead of sending Ada to preschool that day, the suggestion went, Cynthia would be willing to get up early and be at Amy and Sheldon's before they left for work and she would spend the entire day with her granddaughter. Amy had been shocked and noncommittal, saying she would have to discuss it with Sheldon.

Both Sheldon and Amy felt strongly that Ada should grow up knowing and loving her grandmothers; Sheldon had adored MeeMaw, and Amy always regretted that her grandparents died when she was so young, her mother being such a surprise, late-in-life child. Aunt Flora, her mother's much older sister, was the closest she'd had to a grandparent relationship, and she adored it just as Sheldon adored his with MeeMaw. By necessity, Mary Cooper being several states and hours away, Ada's interactions with her were limited to scheduled biweekly FaceTime chats and one or two visits a year. She had always been much more likely to see Cynthia Fowler in person.

And, despite - or perhaps because of - the tension-filled history with Amy, Cynthia had proved to be an almost doting grandmother in that standoffish way she had. Neither Sheldon or Amy could deny that. It was obvious to them that she was working very hard on this relationship. Arrangements were make at least once a month for babysitting or outings, a card was received in the mail addressed to Ada for every single holiday (even ones Sheldon was convinced Hallmark made up, such as Sweetest Day), and she even joined FaceBook (surely the last person on the planet to do so) in order to keep abreast of the photos and such that appeared there. The most interesting thing was that Ada seemed to enjoy this reserved sort of interaction. Sheldon noticed that, while Ada would throw her arms around Mary Cooper upon her rare arrivals, Ada had learned that Grandmother Fowler was more of the brief hand-holding type. One Saturday when Cynthia was babysitting, Sheldon and Amy had returned home to find them sitting on opposite ends of the sofa (Ada in his spot, thankfully), reading silently. It occurred to Sheldon, just before Ada came out of her shell to rush to greet them at the door, that she looked very content in that shell.

Amy, not being afraid to discuss her forays with hippy-dippy notions, postulated that because Ada both gave and received physical affection from her parents, she did not need this demonstrative validation of love from her grandmother. Also, Amy pointed out, they had noticed Ada's self-centering behavior in other situations, when she became calmer and quieter and more sure than those around her. "She had to get it from somewhere, Sheldon," Amy said. "Goodness knows it didn't come from you."

There, perhaps, was the heart of the quandary: was Ada taking after Cynthia? The thought hammered in his chest so loudly he ignored the little insult from Amy. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? To be fair, his mother-in-law was well-read, she had a very successful if somewhat esoteric career, she was a very intelligent woman, she had a circle of friends that played bridge every week, her house-keeping skills were impeccable, her manners were flawless, and there was no denying there had been at least one _grande passion_  in her life. And yet . . . she was subtly passive-aggressive, she was stoic, there was something vaguely condescending in her flawless speech (the way there is a tick in your head every time someone uses the word 'whom' correctly), her career was embarrassing to mention to others (Sheldon had quickly learned to say "she's a journalist" to avoid incredulous snickers), and there was no denying she had completely botched the handling of the outcome of that  _grande passion_.

None of that, of course, was verbalized to Amy; he could not bring himself to say unkind things that would prick at her. After all, his mother had raised him right. Instead, they discussed their mutual concern. Granted preschool was optional and, it could be argued, more of a daycare for the benefit of working parents, but the Caltech faculty daycare and preschool had very high educational standards. Would it be inappropriate to take Ada out of such structured learning, a solid foundation for her required education to come, to spend one a day week essentially playing with her grandmother?

And so it was this philosophical quandary that still stirred in their minds when Book Club Night arrived.

* * *

Amy reached up to take the offered mug with a smile. "Book Club?"

"Of course," Sheldon said, sitting down next to her on the sofa.

Raising the mug take a drink of tea, Amy backed her head away with start. "Hot chocolate?"

"Yes, " Sheldon said, taking a drink from his own cup.

Her brow furrowing, Amy asked softly, "What are you upset about? And is it bad enough you think I'll be upset, too?"

"I.  _Hated._ This book," he said, looking out in front of him.

There was so much ferocity in his voice, that Amy raised her eyebrows at the rumble. "You've had aversions to books before," she ventured timidly. "We've discussed it, that there's nothing wrong in disliking a Book Club selection. Your distaste doesn't upset me."

"I didn't say I disliked this book, I said I  _hated_ it." Now he turned to look at her.

Amy put a repentant hand up. "Okay, hated. I'm sorry I misquoted you. Do you want to discuss it?"

She took a drink of her hot cocoa and waited. Sheldon was the one who said it was time for Book Club, Sheldon was the one who prepared the drinks and brought it up again; there was obviously something on his mind.

Finally, he sighed deeply after taking his own drink. "I couldn't decide if I hated the protagonist or not. I know I hated her mother. I know I hated the events in this story. I hated the way everyone acted, how they treated each other."

"Well, it wasn't a pleasant tale, I'll grant you that. I, too, struggled to empathize with most of the characters. Maybe we aren't meant to." Amy shrugged. "I was disappointed, too. I picked it because I loved  _Chocolat_ so much, and I wanted to read another Harris book with you. But  _Chocolat_ , while it has similar motifs of an outcast in a small, judgmental French village, is a lighter book. So I'm sorry for that."

Sheldon was watching her, so she continued. "I think it's also meant to be an example that there can be various shades of innocence and guilt in a war. Is that what bothered you, that there was no clear right and wrong?"

Licking his lips, Sheldon spoke. "No, not necessarily. While I do not generally enjoy reading novels about the horrors of World War II, I am, of course, aware of what occurred."

Amy tilted her head and said softly, "May I ask why you dislike reading about World War II? It's a very common setting for literature. It was a dark time, of course, but sometimes I think we collectively need to explore these dark times to keep them from repeating. Or maybe to just try to explain them to ourselves." She took a deep breath. "It is about science? I know some people feel it was a time when science betrayed us, with the bomb and the gas chambers -"

"No," Sheldon said sharply. "Science did not betray us. We betrayed science."

Nodding sadly, Amy said, "Yes, I suppose we did." She took a drink and thought. "Is that it?"

"Maybe. I don't know," Sheldon said, shifting in his spot.

"Listen, Sheldon, we don't have to talk about the book. The goal of Book Club is not to torture either one of us." She reached out to gently touch his arm.

"I know. But, frankly, I am curious as to why you're not upset about this book," he replied, turning even further in his spot to look straight at her.

Taking a deep breath, Amy considered her answer. "Just for clarification, are your referencing the mother-daughter relationship?" Sheldon nodded. "Yes, I thought so." Another pause. "I agree that this was perhaps the most dysfunctional mother-daughter relationship I've ever read about. You're correct about the way they treated each other. But I . . . I presume you're familiar with the expression 'the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence'?"

"Of course."

"Sometimes it's a relief to be reminded that it can also be browner," she said with an exhale, burying her face in her mug.

"You liked this book?" Sheldon asked, his eyebrows raised.

"No. But I respected it."

He rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

"Yes, here we go again. I think that any work of literature that gets you so passionate and vocal and motivated about your feelings, whether positive or negative, has accomplished something. I can't say for sure whether or not it's alway what the author wanted to accomplish, but, regardless, they've accomplished something. I would much rather read a book that I don't care for or even entirely understand as long as it makes me think and gives me pause to reevaluate something in my own life. I'll never forgot this book, and I'd rather have that than some books I've read the last sentence and then promptly forgot I ever read it." Amy took a deep breath. "Those are my least favorite Book Clubs, when we both find a book so mediocre we struggle to even discuss it. It has no relief, no dips and valleys, good and bad, to find shadows of meaning in."

"Me, too," Sheldon said softly. He took another drink and then said, "But didn't the book also . . . make you nervous?"

"About what specifically?"

"Ada. I mean, the girl here is nine and she's so incredibly . . . cruel."

"She is. But Ada is not Framboise. Framboise is a product of her upbringing. Not just a difficult, tortured time to be growing up in France, but her mother is . . . her mother. And she's only nine, the youngest child. She'd obviously in the thrall of her older brother and sister and she lets them lead her down a path of mistakes and misery."

Sheldon bit his lip. "Nine. It's only four years away. What if she . . . what if she . . . well . . . " He winced as though he was in physical pain.

"Are you referencing her feelings for Tomas?" Sheldon nodded. "That troubled me, too. Obviously, she was sexually mature for her age. Even now to begin menstruating so young is unusual. So, yes, she had unusual sexual desires for a nine year old. However, I am not convinced her fascination with Tomas was sexual," Amy said.

"But she says so herself!"

"Remember this is told in first person. She is the narrator of her own life. When you're a child, your feelings are so overwhelming, and you're not mentally and emotionally able to fully articulate them. I know she believed she was in love with Tomas, but I think it was a sort of self-delusion of a feeling she could not describe. I think she was in love with the idea of his power. We know Framboise craves and feeds on power: the power she has to bring on her mother's migraines, the power she believes she will gain if she catches the fish. She often talks about how light-hearted and easy going he was. Clearly, nothing was light-hearted or easy in her home. And, remember, she talks about returning to Germany with him after the war? She wants to be whisked away from her current existence and she thinks he can do that for her. Here -" Amy picked up her Kindle from where it was setting next to her and located what she had marked "- she tells us so herself: 'But that's an adult reasoning. In those days there were no such barriers to belief as logic or realism. We saw what we saw and who is to say where the truth lay?'"

"Maybe you'e right," Sheldon mumbled. "Did you ever do anything as a child you regret?"

"Of course. I'm sure you did, too." Amy leaned forward and put her empty mug on the coffee table. "You know my mother and I did not have the healthiest relationship growing up. There were many arguments. Well, as much of an argument as my mother will have. She rarely yells, you know, she just crosses her arms and look at you like . . ." Amy shook her head. "Never mind, we don't need to rehash that."

"But isn't that why you picked this book? I know you said something about  _Chocolat_ , but I thought it was because of the mother-daughter relationship," Sheldon asked, turning slightly away for her. Perhaps he was frightened or nervous about asking such a question, Amy thought.

She tilted her head. No, she had not picked this book for that reason, it just happened to be another highly regarded Joanne Harris book. And yet . . . Joanne Harris had written many novels, hadn't she? They could have read one of her novels about Norse mythology, a topic Amy particularly enjoyed.  _The Gospel of Loki,_  for example; Sheldon probably would have appreciated that. She sighed deeply and reached up to rub her eyes, beneath her glasses. "Just like the book. Some things you can't escape."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up," Sheldon said softly.

"No." Then more firmly, " _No._ " She looked over at him. "There is nothing to be sorry for. I don't know why I said what I did. I am not running from her, not anymore. We're . . . better now. We're working on getting better. I will  _not_  set that example for Ada. Besides," Amy shrugged, "Ada adores her."

"Yes, she does," Sheldon agreed. He took a deep breath. "Okay, enough about your mother. What about the mother in this novel? Maybe you can explain away Framboise's actions, but can you explain hers?"

Smiling softly at her husband, Amy picked up his hand and kissed it. "Thank you. Why don't you tell me what you think? I've been doing all the talking."

"She was ill. I have been fortunate to never suffer from migraines or some other debilitating illness, but I suppose it's reasonable that that would make you cranky." Amy smiled softly and nodded, still holding his hand. "She may have been in shock about her husband's death. And mourning. It must have been extremely difficult to manage a large farm alone, to raise three wild children alone all while living under Nazi occupation, living in fear for your life." He paused. "And she did love them, in her own way. She saved them in the end, she took all of their blame."

"Yes," Amy said quietly. "You know what? This book makes me feel both grateful and guilty."

"Guilty?" Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Grateful that you are not living under all the circumstances I just mentioned, I understand. But guilty?"

"Why can't I let it go?" She heard her voice crack, and she tried to swallow it away. "What's wrong with me?"

"Amy!" Sheldon took both of her hands in his, and looked at her intently behind his glasses. "There is nothing wrong with you. Your mother lied to you for years, or at least allowed you to believe your own lie. And you're different people. You're so spirited and passionate and outspoken, all those things I love about you. And your mother is so . . . maddeningly calm."

"What is the crime in that? My mother made some poor choices, yes, but I think she regrets that now. She is nothing like the mother in this novel." Amy tapped the cover of her Kindle for emphasis. "Doesn't that make me the evil person now?"

Sheldon sat back with a start. "No, Amy, of course not!" Then he looked down at his lap, although he did not let go of her hands. "What if Ada ends up like her?" he whispered.

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart hammered. How long had Sheldon been thinking this, how long had he been worried? Was this the unspoken current she felt in all their conversations about her mother, specifically about her offer to spend a day each week with her granddaughter? Her stomach flipped as she realized it was. And that Sheldon was not alone in thinking it. Apparently her subconscious just needed it said aloud first.

"I don't think you can make one person like someone else," Amy said, although she felt her brain struggling to say the things she knew to be true. Sheldon looked up at her. "Even though things we experience in life certainly influence us, especially when we are young, especially if they are traumatic, but, for the most part, our personalities are decided by genetics dressed as fate." She paused. "Even in this book, we are told that Framboise is already so much like her mother, we're told that in the very beginning. And . . . and I am not my mother because I am like my father."

"What?"

"She told me. That's what drew her to him, you know, his spirit. He was so different from her, so open, so passionate. Of course, perhaps too open and passionate in the long run, but . . ." Amy let her sentence trail off.

"Opposites attract," Sheldon said. Amy nodded. "I'm so glad we're not opposites. I liked you from the beginning because we were so much alike. Everyone should find someone they are so much like."

Amy smiled. "I don't think that works for everyone." She squeezed his hand. "Here's what else I thought this novel: it's about redemption. Framboise mother's never gets redemption. We never learn what happens to her in the long run, she just disappears. She comes to believe that she is the evil person everyone was telling her that she was, I think. I know there are a lot of crimes in this novel, unspeakable crimes, but the one that comprises the climax, she didn't commit that. Yet she confesses and takes the punishment for it."

"To save her children," Sheldon said.

"Yes. So she wasn't evil, you see? But, nonetheless, she doesn't see it that way. She truly believes she committed the crime in a migraine haze. She never gets her redemption. Not until Framboise is an old woman, then she is finally able to make peace with her own past and she gives her mother her redemption when she tells the truth publicly." Amy took a deep breath. "But it was too late. Not for Framboise, she finds peace and I'm happy for that, but for her mother." Amy squeezed Sheldon's hand again. "I don't know what I want to say, really. Just that I, too, disliked this novel. Very much. But I can't shake it, just like the smell of oranges that permeated their cottage. I guess," she took a deep breath, "it makes me wish that in life you could just hand someone their redemption, and then it would be over. The past is such a complex process. Which is why we still write and read about World War II. And think about our parents. Oh, I don't know!" Amy threw her free hand up. "I'm just rambling now?"

Sheldon reached for her and she let herself be drawn into his warmth, his sphere, his orbit, where she always felt the surest and safest. Where almost everything made sense. "Shhhh," he breathed into her hair. "We'll do a very simple book next time."

Amy chuckled in his chest.

* * *

Deciding on something and completely accepting it are two different things. However, Ada was so excited when they told her, and Cynthia was there on time as promised, even though Sheldon realized she must have gotten up very early to do this, and it actually made their morning smoother.

But still his eyes met Amy's briefly with trepidation before Sheldon reached out to turn the doorknob that evening. He thought he heard Amy take in a breath. Good, she was nervous, too. He didn't know why he was; Ada and Cynthia had spent days together before, for just as many hours. And Amy had clearly explained to her mother it was just a trial, to see if Ada enjoyed it, to see if she would prefer to remain in her preschool class. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that this was somehow different.

The door swung open, and his eyes quickly scanned the room. Ada was sitting at the dining table, her head bent over a large paper in front of her, her legs swinging. Cynthia was leaning over her. They both turned and smiled, Ada more broadly, of course.

"Mom! Dad!" Ada called, not getting up.

"Hello, sweetheart! Hello, Mother," Amy said.

Cynthia nodded in reply as Sheldon and Amy walked toward them. "How did it today go? What are you working on?"

"Grandma is teaching me calligraphy," Ada said.

"Calligraphy?" Sheldon asked, as Amy bent down to inspect the fancy letters on the paper. Of all the useless thing to fill his daughter's head with! It was even worse than he thought -

"I sensed some apprehension that Ada would not be attending class today. I thought perhaps I would give her some instructions on skills that have been deemed passé in the current educational climate," Cynthia offered.

Sheldon grunted softly. The motives, even he had to admit, were pure.

"She said we can do other stuff, too, like history and something called deportment," Ada offered. "Dad, come look."

"Deportment?" Sheldon asked, but he leaned down, as requested, to look at Ada's work. He was surprised at what he saw. Ada had known how to write her letters for ages now, but he had not expected such beautiful and precise work.

"Well, just the basics, you understand. I am aware she is only four," Cynthia said. "For example, that's only the most basic penmanship, really just beginning cursive."

"No, Mother, we think it's great. Obviously Ada is excited," Amy said quickly.

Sheldon picked up a white card laying to the side and read it quickly with surprise. "Ada, did you do this on your own?"

"Grandma helped. I told her what I wanted to say, and she helped me write it that way," Ada explained, shrugging as she continued to make perfect X's on her paper.

"What is it?" Amy asked, as Sheldon felt her come closer to peer over his shoulder.

He handed her the card. "A letter to my mother."

"MeeMaw is the only person that doesn't live here," Ada explained. "And Grandma says nothing makes someone feel as special as getting a letter in the old-fashioned mail."

Sheldon turned to look at Amy and she smiled broadly at him. "I think it's wonderful, Ada. MeeMaw will be so happy when she gets it, I'm sure."

"Yes, MeeMaw will love it," Sheldon said. "What a thoughtful thing to do, Ada."

"It was Grandma's idea," Ada said distractedly and then hopped down from her chair, running toward the island. "Look at this coloring book she brought with famous scientists, Dad. Einstein is in it! Will you color with me?"

Sheldon took the offered book from Ada's hands, but he looked over at his mother-in-law. She didn't look the least embarrassed, of course. She just said, "I know how much she loves to hear you talk about scientists."

He studied her for a moment. What was he so afraid of? That Ada would turned out as poised as she was? That Ada would take to wearing twinsets and pearls even while babysitting? That Ada would pick up on such small details such as what others enjoyed? Or that Ada would turn out thoughtful enough to write letters to someone far away, just to make them feel special?

Swiftly, he passed the unopened coloring book back to Ada and stepped away from them toward Amy's side of the desk, opening a drawer and rummaging through until found what he knew she had stored there. He knew he was being watched quizzically and he heard Amy ask "Sheldon?", but he didn't care. He brought the piece of paper over and handed it to Cynthia.

"It's a list of all the topics she needs to prove her mastery of before entering second grade GATE program next year. Some, like the math, are not a cause for concern. But we've never actively worked on spelling. Or handwriting. Not that we doubt her abilities, of course, but she needs to be introduced to them and learn the concepts in a structured fashion."

Cynthia looked down at the list, reading things at random. "Photosynthesis of plants. Layers of the Earth. Basic tectonics," she read and looked up. "Not your forte."

"Sheldon -" Amy started, and he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"My MeeMaw and PopPop helped me prepare for school. I just didn't realize that's what it was then," he explained for Amy's benefit even as he continued looking at Cynthia. "And Amy told me that her Aunt Flora taught her to read and anything else she missed by not attending kindergarten."

It hung in the air, and even Ada was quiet. It was offer for all them: to help Ada on her journey, to help Sheldon and Amy with their time, and to help Cynthia reclaim something, an atonement for something she had missed in the past. It was not said, but it was known nonetheless.

"It would be my honor," Cynthia said and nodded to him. "If Amy agrees, of course."

They turned to Amy, her eyebrows raised at this unexpected understanding that had somehow developed. She reached up to place her hand over Sheldon's resting on her shoulder. She turned to looked at him, and he saw her eyes were damp. "Yes."


	104. Personalities - Part One

**Personalities - Part One**

* * *

_There, perhaps, was the heart of the quandary: was Ada taking after Cynthia? The thought hammered in his chest so loudly he ignored the little insult from Amy. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? To be fair, his mother-in-law was well-read, she had a very successful if somewhat esoteric career, she was a very intelligent woman, she had a circle of friends that played bridge every week, her house-keeping skills were impeccable, her manners were flawless, and there was no denying there had been at least one grande passion in her life. And yet . . . she was subtly passive-aggressive, she was stoic, there was something vaguely condescending in her flawless speech . . ._

* * *

Freshman

For the life of her, she could not remember why she agreed to this scheme clearly cooked up behind her back between her fathers and Ada's parents. If Yasmine knew one other single person at Harvard, she probably would have refused. It's not like she really knew Ada, either. Yes, there were the photos and Instabook updates on her, but Yasmine didn't follow her or her parents, she just heard about when Abbi brought it up. They had visited a few times, and Ada was okay, she guessed. But if she was going to live with a stranger anyway, Yasmine reasoned, she might as will live with one whom she had met before. But she clearly didn't think this through.

From the moment Ada's parents helped her moved into their new dorm room, Yasmine regretted her decision. It was all so embarrassing: the way Abbi and Ada's mom spent every second reminiscing about their own days at Harvard, the way Dad kept asking her if she would be okay, the way Ada's dad clearly was  _not_ okay. Yasmine did feel sorry for him, but when she found him in the stair well, sitting and rocking slightly with his head in his hands (was he crying?), she held back and walked away, embarrassed by his emotions. At the last minute, she put a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign up at the doorway to give him his privacy. Blimey, what weird family.

Here she was, finally with complete freedom from her dads, but saddled with a child prodigy who was such a baby. She wasn't majoring in baby-sitting, she was meant to major in pre-law. So she could be a fabulous human rights barrister. Or one of those ball-breaking divorce attorneys; she was undecided. Either way, she didn't need some skinny weirdo junior tagging along, ruining her fun. College was a time for enjoyment and experimentation and Yasmine meant to embrace it, with her fathers safely on the other side of an ocean where their ignorance could be bliss.

Finally, all their parents were gone, and Yasmine turned in their tiny room and looked at her taller but younger roommate. "Well, it's just you and me now, Junior."

"Don't call me that," Ada said simply.

But Junior stuck, long after it amused Yasmine to call her that.

Ada. First of all, one couldn't discuss Ada without mentioning her breathtaking beauty. That hair! Yasmine forgot how beautiful she was. Or maybe photographs didn't do her justice. There was something in the way she carried her beauty, too. Was she honestly that oblivious to it? Or was it merely an act, that she was so certain in the power of her allure that she just acted like it wasn't worth mentioning? There was this way she carried herself: regal, stately, statuesque, refined. Proud? Most girls that tall would have hunched and hidden themselves, but Ada glided with confidence through any room. It drove Yasmine crazy, the way all the boys in the cafeteria turned to watch her when she picked up her tray. Not jealous, Yasmine insisted to herself, definitely not jealous.

That first semester was awful. While she wasn't the bossy, talkative know-it-all Yasmine had feared of a child prodigy, she was decidedly odd. And not just in her particular, neat-freak ways. Like the time Yasmine came back the room and found Ada had put masking tape down the middle to "contain your mess." Ada also moped and mooned about her cat as though she'd left a limb back in California. She had a schedule, and almost nothing could veer off of it. She woke up at 6:30 a.m. every single day, sometimes barely after Yasmine had gone to bed, and was always amazed that Yasmine wasn't up yet. On the first and the fifteenth of each month, she performed every single activity in their room balancing a book on her head to improve her posture, which at least explained the way she walked ("Grandmother taught me how," she explained). She was taking Swimming and Diving for an elective, and Yasmine hated the smell of her chlorine soaked swimsuits. Yasmine discovered completely by accident that Ada wrote fanfiction comic books, and they had a terrific row about it ("Only one person knew my secret before you ruined it!" Ada cried. But who? She wouldn't say.). For all her brilliance, she was naïve and sheltered, always shocked when Yasmine brought home beer or a man. More than once Yasmine purposely left the agreed-upon headband off the dorm room doorknob just to see and hear Ada's shock when she walked in on her and her latest conquest  _in flagrante delicto_.

But Ada was bossy over strange things: She preferred silence, and there were arguments about the volume and type of Yasmine's music. Her clothing was absolutely not to be touched as she "had a system." Yasmine's toying with her accent made her irritable as did her use of out-dated British curse words. Yasmine tried to explain to her that she had discovered some boys wanted a Cockney girl to give them a blowjob with their dirty mouths, while others wanted an innocent, posh Princess Charlotte they could pretend to corrupt.

"But it's not even real," Ada had argued, and if she hadn't been so sincere Yasmine would have laughed at her. "You didn't even live in Britain until you were five!"

"Thank you for reminding me of that," Yasimine said tersely. "Being an outsider, a orphan, a refugee!, with gay parents wasn't enough to make me realize I'm not really British, that I never fit in, so I'm glad you came along to remind me. I know all you Americans think Prince Harry just swooped in and saved the Middle East with his peace plan and his sexy red hair, but you know it didn't happen over night, right? And not soon enough to save my mother. Even in jolly ol' England, there were still whispers and looks for years later."

"Yasmine, I'm sorry. It's not what I meant. I -" Ada put her head down, and Yasmine actually felt a little guilty. It was true that there had never been any whispers or looks from Ada, not even any embarrassing or prying questions disguised as concern. Yasmine had grown up always knowing she was out of a place, a minority, and all she wanted to do was belong. But here was Ada, who didn't fit in either, who maybe fit in even less, and . . . whom Yasmine was tasked with watching over, even if those words had never been said to her.

"Don't worry, Junior, I can turn into Bathsheba when I need to," she said softly. Then she added, just for spite, just for the fun of it, to prevent the need to apologize, so Ada wouldn't think her weak, "What you need is to to get laid."

That always shut Ada up. She grunted and returned to her book. That was literally the end of that particular conversion between them, and Yasmine was free to return to rolling her eyes at her younger roommate's eccentricities.

Like those clothes! Didn't Ada know all one needed was a solid black wardrobe accented by leather? At first, based on snippets of overheard conversations, Yasmine thought she dressed that way to annoy her mother. But then she kept doing it. No outfit was too outrageous for Ada, no event too serious. This, too, she managed to carry off with aplomb. People turned to look, and then they all seemed to smile. At first it was annoying and then, somehow, it became entertaining.

Strangest of all was that there was something decidedly different about her. Yasmine tried to chalk it up to her intelligence, her straight A's even when other valedictorians faltered. But no . . . she seemed to live in her mind. How else to describe it? Sometimes, sitting at her desk or on her bed or working on the white board she set up in a corner of the room, she seemed like she was barely tethered to this world. It wasn't shyness, that was clear. At first, during those early weeks, Yasmine thought she was an arrogant, stuck-up bitch. But then she came to realize there was no malice behind her detachment. She was just naturally calm and sure of herself. Ada was honest to a fault, which, while jarring at first, started to become refreshing. If you wanted to know the truth, if you really wanted a candid opinion, you asked Ada. You always knew where you stood with her.

Yasmine spent a few weeks trying to trip her up, suggesting ever more outlandish cuisines and activities, but Ada jumped at the chance to do almost anything that wasn't illegal or loud. She was fearless, which, given her reserve, surprised Yasmine. But once Ada decided she disliked something, there was no convincing her otherwise. And it wasn't that she would sneer while mentioning it again. Instead, she would become completely silent on the topic; it was as though it wasn't worth the time to even think about anymore, that it was very far beneath her high standards. Her detachment was total and slightly cruel.

She could have been French really, with all that cool detachment and je ne sais quoi. All she needed was a cigarette in an ivory holder and a scarf trailing behind her. Which, given her wardrobe, she'd probably have before too long.

At first, Yasmine didn't feel so bad about their conflicts. They were collage roommates, and weren't you supposed to hate your roommate on some level? And Ada had other friends. Well, people with whom she was friendly. There were Sophie and Harper that she went to high school with. But they were too old for her now; Yasmine could see it in their eyes because she knew the feeling. Yasmine would see Ada sometimes, in study groups, walking across the yard, sitting by others in a cafeteria, and she would be chatting or maybe even smiling slightly. But yet . . .

One crisp autumn day, Yasmine came back to the dorm room and heard laughter coming from inside. Ada must be watching television. Or talking on the phone to her cat. But there was a boy in their room. An actual, living boy! Sitting on Ada's bed, while Ada sat in her desk chair. Granted a very unattractive boy. Dark hair. Thick glasses. Fidgeting. As the door swung open, Yasmine stood in the shock. Then Ada turned her head, grinned - a smile from ear to ear! - and said, "Yasmine, look who finally came to visit! Did you ever meet Jacob Wolowitz? He's studying biological engineering at MIT."

Flustered, Yasmine stumbled through the introductions. Then Ada stood and said, "Come on, Jacob, let's go." She turned. "We're going to play mini golf, would you like to join us?"

"Mini golf?" Yasmine sputtered. At least it explained the argyle sweater vest.

"Miniature golf? Putt-putt? I'm sorry, does it have a different name in England?" Ada asked.

"No, I know what it is," Yasmine shook her head. "Uh, no, thanks."

"Okay. See you later," Ada smiled and breezed past her. Jacob waved.

Yasmine turned and watched Jacob and the strange, glowing - there really was no other word for it - creature formerly known as Junior leave their room. But then she shook her head and debated between studying or deciding if she should make a booty call.

Later, Yasmine rolled her desk chair to Ada's side of the room. Which, granted, was only four feet away. "So, tell me about Jacob."

"He's eighteen. I told you he's majoring in biological engineering at MIT. He was salutatorian of our graduating class. His parents are Howard and -" Ada recited without looking up from writing on her tablet.

Yasmine rolled her eyes. "No, not the facts listed in his FBI file, like  _about_  him."

"I don't understand the question." Ada looked up, her eyes blank and serious behind her glasses.

"Do you like him?" Yasmine leaned forward.

"Of course I like him, he's my friend."

"Blimey, Ada. Why do you have to take every thing at face value all the time? I mean do you -" Yasmine rolled her hand "- like like him?"

First, Ada's eyebrows went up and then she got that little line she sometimes got between her brows. "I didn't know this was elementary school. Regardless, no. We grew up together. We have the relationship I would imagine I would have with a sibling. To like like -" Ada put her fingers up in air quotes "- him would be incestuous."

"Whatever." Yasmine pushed off with her black hightop and went back to her desk. "But, you know -" she turned around but kept Ada's face visible in the corner of her eye "- you could totally lay him if you wanted."

The look on Ada's face was worth it.

December finals were hell. For everyone except Ada. She studied, but no more than usual. She walked around in with her head in its usual cloud, wearing an old varsity sweater and some saddle shoes she found at a thrift shop ("I feel collegiate this week," she shrugged when Yasmine asked), and she was completely unruffled.

Finally, Yasmine could leave. She missed her dads after all. She missed London. Mostly, she was looking forward to not having to endure Ada's strangeness for a whole month. Having signed up for the winter session, Ada would only be gone two weeks. Of course she would, the overachiever.

But, bloody hell, when Ada called her from their dorm room to ask her a question about something that came in the mail there, if Yasmine wasn't glad to see that beautiful, aloof face.

* * *

Sophomore

His name was Dylan. Of course it was. He wore his blond hair long and in a low ponytail. Of course he did. He had a thumb ring. Of course he did. He played the guitar, writing his own slow, mournful songs. Of course he did. He had dropped out of college to pursue his art and worked as a barista to make ends meet. Of course he did.

He was the fourth of four things that happened Ada's sophomore year at Harvard that would change her life, although she didn't realize it yet.

The first, the most surprising, actually happened the spring before. Yasmine suggested they live together another year, and Ada, having somehow become rather fond of her, agreed. As sophomores, they even won their bid for a larger room with its own en suite. Ada knew that beneath that tough talking, promiscuous, always wearing solid black exterior, Yasmine was sharp as a tack. She knew that her natural voice was beautiful, with one of those accents that comes from more than one place, and she hoped Yasmine would realize that herself someday, and stop pretending to be the most British person on Earth. Most of all, Yasmine was always there when you needed her. Not that she would have ever admitted it.

The second was she decided to pick up a third major. Even if it meant it would take her a full four years to graduate because of various Harvard stipulations. Mathematics and Japanese were useful and sanctioned by her parents, but Fine Arts with a two-dimensional concentration was for her. They didn't necessarily approve, especially Dad, but they relented with only mild grumbling because they understood she wanted to be challenged and because she easily maintained a 4.0 her freshman year.

The third was she openly defied her parents for the first time ever. She got a job at Starbucks. They argued she should be devoting her time to her studies. They disagreed about how much allowance she needed to buy clothes. They blamed her newly found love of addictive stimulants on Yasmine. Well, that part was true. They never gave their blessing to this new enterprise. But Ada liked the monotony, the relative mindless activity she could do while allowing herself to think about her studies or a geometric idea she felt percolating in the back of her brain or working out the kinks in the next chapter of her fanfiction comic book before she posted it.

And there, behind the counter with her, was Dylan. It was his reserve that attracted Ada. She got along with her coworkers, but she did not like the idle gossip and petty grievances of the workplace. She got enough of that with Yasmine, and at least Yasmine was funny. She allowed them to think she was shy or a snob just because she didn't join in. But Dylan didn't, either, she noticed. He was also a couple of inches taller than her, and she appreciated his height. And, so, slowly, they became friends. He mentioned he was going to play in the basement of some bar one Friday night. "You should come," he shrugged.

"I can't," she said, looking away. "I'm only seventeen." She had not expected the way that statement felt like a confession, as though her youth were a crime. She had not expected her heart to sink at the idea that whatever it was she now realized was blossoming between them would die because she was underage.

"Seventeen?" Dylan asked, his eyebrows raised. "And a sophomore? What are you, a genius or something?"

"Yes. Exactly."

He didn't look surprised or say any of the things Ada was always hearing about her intelligence, and somehow that pleased Ada even more. "It doesn't matter, I'll tell them you're with me. Just don't order any beer. I'm only twenty myself, and they let me in to play."

She shouldn't have told Yasmine, who acted as though this was the most important thing in her life, never mind the perfect SAT score and the three majors, and insisted on coming along. Yasmine who peppered him with questions as they drank coffee after his hushed, forlorn set. Yasmine who didn't spare a second before she gave Ada her full, unfiltered opinion on him. Not that Ada expected any less.

"He's so boring. It was like talking to someone in a bloody coma," Yasmine protested as they walked back to the dorm in the dark autumn night, leaves crunching under their feet.

"He's calm," Ada said. "Not everyone can be as animated as you."

"That barmy music! You would think that someone died every single day in his life to make him that sad. It was like audible narcolepsy."

"He feels things deeply. He knows how to express himself eloquently. Without a curse word in every sentence." Ada sped up, so Yasmine would have to scramble to keep up with her long legs.

"He's too much like you. It will like snogging a mirror."

"We're nothing alike. He's a musician."

"Your parents will hate him," Yasmine called from behind her.

Ada stopped so suddenly Yasmine bumped into her back. "Bloody hell, Ada, it's dark."

"Do you really think so?" she whispered, not turning around.

"Definitely." Yasmine stepped around to look at her, rubbing her nose. "Which is the only good thing about this. Your first shag should always be against your parent's wishes."

"Is that all you think about?" Ada took off again.

It wasn't like kissing mirror. It was . . . nice, once Ada got up the nerve to initiate it. It definitely wasn't an English snog, which relieved Ada. She was too embarrassed to tell him she'd only ever been kissed once and that was an awful experience, but he was soft and gentle and unhurried in this, too. He liked to sit beside her while she silently read or drew and he wrote music, and he was even unruffled by Yasmine's obvious dislike of him. ("I've seen kindergarteners more fruity that you two," she mumbled on on the way out of their room.) He let her decide when and how much she wanted to be physical, and she never felt rushed or forced. He let her decide when and how much she wanted to see him in general. He was a gentleman, she defended him to Yasmine.

A believer in diving right in, Ada asked her parents to come to Thanksgiving in Boston instead of Texas, promising a trip to Plymouth Rock to make it more historically authentic. They were wild about corny things like that. Dylan agreed to come to Thanksgiving at a restaurant to meet them, and Ada's heart hammered the entire T ride there with him. Even her perfect dress, complete with its embroidered bodice that looked like stomacher (perfect for Thanksgiving in Massachusetts), didn't make her feel any better. She stopped in the vestibule at the restaurant, watching them in the waiting area through the glass, because they hadn't noticed her yet. They looked so old suddenly, she realized. Yes, her mother's braid had long since been gray, but for the first time she noticed a few silver hairs at her dad's temples. Once, she had thought she hated them, but now they made her sad somehow. She noticed they were holding hands, and her father seemed to be toying with her mother's wedding ring. He must be nervous to do that in public. They were just as frightened of the future as she was, and this realization coupled with their aging made them seem fragile and new to her. They had always been pillars of strength, they had been so confident in front of her before, and this stolen glimpse of their fears make her heart ache.

Ada had counted on them hating Dylan, just as Yasmine foretold. An artist, a college drop-out? But even Dad was strangely quiet. Mom must have preemptively admonished him into silence; she was the only one who had the power to do that. Mom was overly polite, asking Dylan too many questions, which was her way of dealing with any situation with Ada that made her uncomfortable. Usually Mom was blunt and sarcastic, which is how Ada preferred her, but Ada knew this act well. She wanted to be perfect to Ada's first boyfriend because she wanted Ada's first boyfriend to be perfect for Ada. She wanted everything to be perfect for Ada. So, in the end, it wasn't the disaster Ada had dreaded - no, planned on. It was awkward and strained but polite. They both genuinely wanted her to be happy, Ada realized, and it felt like a punch to the stomach.

That night, with nothing holding her back now, she opened her bottom dresser drawer and took out the small box. She opened and looked down at the pristine rows of pills. They always made her feel guilty, because she knew what they caused. It was the worst fight of her parent's marriage. Not that they told her that, of course, but it was the only time Dad had ever slept on the sofa. And for two nights in a row, even though he tried and failed to hide it. They had fought so loudly, she heard Mom yell even though the closed bedroom door, "No one else in this family is getting pregnant in collage!" To which Dad yelled back, even louder, "Your fears are unfounded because no daughter of mine is having coitus in college!"

But Mom didn't back down, and she took Ada to the gynecologist anyway. And, somehow, Dad found the peace to . . . to pretend it never happened. This summer, Mom took Ada back for a refill and it was never mentioned at home. Now, on Thanksgiving evening, Ada murmured something like a little prayer for her mother and a whisper of forgiveness from her father and swallowed the first pill.

Not that see needed it, because Dylan never once asked or implied that he was expecting sex from her. Even when Ada would not have minded him taking the lead, perhaps allowing himself to brush her bosom, he never attempted. Surely her parents would approve of that, if they knew?

Autumn gave way to winter, and it was at Yasmine's instance that she agreed to go to her first college house party. "But I'm only seventeen!" she protested.

"You'll be eighteen next week. And going to an underage party is the whole point!" Yasmine said.

As usual, once Yasmine got an idea in her head it would not leave until Ada complied. "Okay, fine, but I'll only try one beer."

The only thing left to do was decide what to wear. Digging through her closet, Ada reached in for her old prom dress. Yasmine just looked at her and shrugged. "It's not that kind of party, you know."

"Maybe I'm being ironic," Ada said.

"Oh, is that what you call it? Come on, Junior."

It was far too loud and noisy and stuffed with people. Everyone turned to stare at her when they went in, which Ada normally did not mind, but she suddenly understood how out of place she was here, especially in her dress. She retreated further and further back into the house, away from the stereo, away from keg and coolers of beer cans, away from Yasmine. The only relative peace was on an old sofa on some sort of enclosed but drafty back porch. Ada gathered her arms around her to keep from shivering. She was thirsty, but the kitchen was terrifyingly filthy. She was still clutching the beer can someone had handed her, and, shaking her head slightly, she opened and took a drink.

Her nose wrinkled and she swallowed it down as quickly as she could. Yuck, it tasted like dishwater! Seeing no way out other than through it, though, Ada took another drink. To the pounding of the music, she took another.

The can was almost gone when she heard it. "Ada Cooper?"

Ada turned toward the voice and grinned. "Jacob! What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing," he said, his dark eyebrows bushed. He walked toward her, reached out and snatched the almost empty can of beer from her. "You're only seventeen!"

"Hey, that's mine! And I'll be eighteen next week." Ada sat up a little straighter, to make herself even taller. Which wasn't hard with Jacob. "And you're only nineteen."

"Twenty next month. And I can hold my liquor," he said, sitting down on the sofa next to her, sending a puff of dust up into the air.

"Who says I can't? Why are you always asking like my older brother?" She would not admit it, but her vision was a little swimmy on the edges.

"Don't you mean acting, not asking? Because it's clear someone needs to. Does Yasmine know you're here?"

"She's not my mother, either! Don't think I don't know that Yasmine reports to Faisal who reports to Mom! Besides, she brought me."

Jacob growled. "Are you drunk? Because there was no logic to that statement, only paranoia. Come on, Ada, I'll take you home," Jacob said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"No! I'm a college student, I should be at a college party!" Ada shook her head and then immediately regretted it as the room started to spin.

"Ada Fowler Cooper, you're acting like a baby," Jacob said, his face getting closer to hers.

"I'm not a baby. You're always calling me that!" Ada protested, leaning in herself to make her point. "My IQ is higher than yours!"

"And you're always rubbing that in my face!" Jacob said, his voice getting loud now. "Do you have any idea what a snot-nosed brat you sound like sometimes?"

"Then why do you keep finding a way to - to meet me?" Ada asked. She reached out to steady herself and only managed to grab the edge of his shirt.

At first, all she tasted was beer. And then something sweeter, like sunshine and flowers and honey. Oh, God!, her eyes closed and she squeezed him tighter, letting his tongue run over her own, her teeth, meeting it with the same ardor as one arm came around her back. Something gentle brushed and then rested against the bosom of her old prom dress and she moaned in delight. She leaned down into him, pressing, and Jacob turned his head to accommodate her passion and both sets of glasses. Never, ever, had she felt such a sensation, radiately down from her lips, up from her genitals, oh! how soft and warm and yielding and hungry his mouth was. She drank from him deeply, her breath coming in hot rushes through her nose, another moan escaping, her hand finding its way under his shirt, burying her nails into the thick patch of chest hair she found there, fireworks exploding behind her eyes when Jacob pressed harder, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Ada!"

Pushing him away, Ada sat back with a gasp, opening her eyes to finally stare at him, his lips red and moist, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses. What had she just done?

She turned, the room spinning around her. "Yasmine . . ."

"Blimey, you do snog, after all -"

"Shut up!" Ada yelled, her hand reaching for her head. "I'm going to be sick," she moaned and struggled to get up. She only allowed Yasmine to help her up so that she could run away faster. The last thing she heard before she ran from the room was Yasmine saying to Jacob, "She has a boyfriend, you know. Just because it's obvious you're in lo -"

Ada ran through the house, through the front door, and vomited all over the front porch.

Yasmine, smelling like that spicy perfume she always wore was there, holding her hair back, covering her with her coat, shouting at everyone to get away, taking her home. Yasmine, who Ada was certain never once reported back to Faisal about their escapades, removed the vomit stained prom dress as Ada sobbed on the bathroom floor and helped her into the hot bathtub.

"I love you, Yasmine," Ada said as she grabbed her hand over the edge.

"Bullocks. How much did you drink?" But -" Yasmine reached for the shampoo, a smile playing on her lips "- that was quite an exit, Junior. I couldn't have done better myself."

The next day, Ada remained curled up in her bed, awash with shame. She had let down her parents. And Dylan. She was a horrible person. What was she going to do? There was a knock on the door, and when Yasmine opened it, Ada groaned and turned her face toward the wall. Jacob. "Tell him to go away," she yelled.

Ada heard a few murmured words and then the door shut again. She glanced over and saw Yasmine was gone now, too. Well, good, she was sick of her telling her to get up and to stop acting maudlin and saying "it was just a kiss." But it was a kiss with the wrong man!

Then Yasmine came back in and stood next to her bed. "Okay, Junior, I'm going to give you a speech. Think of it as a practical for my future career as the best damn barrister in all of Britain. If you insist that you love that stick in the mud, Dylan, fine, whatever it's your life. If you refuse to see what's right in of you, whatever, I am not your seeing eye dog. If you want to flog yourself forty times because you think you committed the worst possible sin on Earth, that's your decision. But I will not stand by and watch you throw away the longest friendship of your life. That boy -" Yasmine pointed to the door and Ada groaned again, knowing that meant Jacob was still on other side of it "- hauls his ass over from MIT to see you. Have you ever once gone over to see him? He's worried about you. So, yeah, you make out with him for a couple of minutes under the influence of some alcohol. Don't you think it was embarrassing for him, too? Or maybe even that you hurt him? He knows you have a boyfriend. He's come to ask your forgiveness, Ada."

Yasmine didn't even wait for reply, she just turned and Ada heard her combat boots pounding as she left the door open behind her. Jacob came in and stood by Ada's bed. "She's going to be an amazing lawyer. I'm terrified and she was my counsel."

Ada couldn't help it, she smiled. Then she sat up in bed. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I don't know what I was thinking, I drank that beer -"

"No, it was my fault, too. More my fault, really. You know, as your older, wiser, big brother." Jacob was looking down at his feet, shuffling them, fidgeting with his fingers like he often did. On reflex, Ada reached a finger out to push against his hand in the way she had learned years ago would make him stop. It did, and he looked up at her. "Will you forgive me?"

"If you'll forgive me," Ada said.

"I already have." He stopped and reached for her iKindle, sitting on the edge of her nightstand. "What are you reading?"

" _Radiance._  It's considered the first entry in decopunk, before it was popular. I was thinking it might be good fodder for a new fanfiction. Have you read it?" She folded her legs up under her.

Jacob flopped down on the bed next to her and shook his head. "No. But you know I love your fanfictions. I just started the Dresden File books. Dad likes them. Have you read those?"

The party wasn't mentioned again between them. But Ada knew what she still needed to do. She dressed carefully and was just fastening the pearls when Yasmine came in several days later.

"Crikey. What are you dressed as, a nun?"

"It's just a black dress and Grandmother's pearls," Ada said, wrapping her hair into a low bun.

"Who calls their granny Grandmother, anyway?"

"I'm going to tell Dylan," Ada said.

"You're breaking up with him?" Yasmine asked, and Ada winced at the slight squeal in her voice.

" _No._  I'm confessing to him what happened the party. And I hope he'll still have me," Ada said, sticking pins in her hair.

"Oh. I thought he wasn't having you at all," Yasmin said, turning away.

"Just because I choose not to share every detail of my love live with the whole dorm at ear-splitting volume, doesn't mean -" Ada took a deep breath. "Fine, if you must know, I've also decided that if he agrees to stay with me, then I would like to have intercourse with him."

"Hallufreakingljah!" Yasmine turned back around excitedly. "Wait, in that outfit? Not in that outfit! Or are you waiting for a sexy birthday night? Do you have protection? Do you have any questions? Do you -"

"Yasmine." Ada put a hand on her shoulder. "I am fully prepared for this. I have been taking birth control since November. My mother is a biologist and she never met a topic or event that she couldn't turn into a lecture."

"Oh my God!" Yasmine surprised her by reaching out to pull her into a hug. "My little girl is growing up."

However, Dylan was not alarmed by Ada's confession. "It was just a kiss?" was all he asked.

"Yes," Ada said, and there was a faint tick of dishonestly buried deep in her brain that she shoved away.

"Okay," Dylan said, looking down to strum another chord on his guitar.

"Dylan?" Ada asked, her mouth dry.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like us to make love."

He looked up and then shrugged. "Sure. If you want."

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	105. Personalities - Part Two

**Personalities - Part Two**

* * *

_"Opposites attract," Sheldon said. Amy nodded. "I'm so glad we're not opposites. I liked you from the beginning because we were so much alike. Everyone should find someone they are so much like."_

_Amy smiled. "I don't think that works for everyone."_

* * *

Junior

Maybe she'd been too harsh on him last year. Maybe Dylan was just shy or something. After all, Ada said he'd hardly cared about her snog with Jacob at the party. And, even though she'd lied and told Ada it was just a kiss, Yasmine had seen more than enough to know it was far more than that.

But Ada seemed content. She and Dylan were still together. They even had some sort of sex life, although getting details out of Ada was like pulling teeth. They never, ever did it in the dorm room, Yasmine was certain of that. Even this year, when she and Ada agreed to stay on campus because the walks were shorter but moved up to an apartment style dorm with separate bedrooms and a kitchenette.

Yasmine decided to make an effort, even if she found Dylan as dull as watching paint dry. After all, if Jacob could agree to go hang out with Ada and Dylan, surely she could, too. This was the year of trying new things, she decided. She wouldn't change her accent anymore. She would clean up her language. She might, if she met the right person, give that monogamy thing a try. She even went shopping with Ada and bought both a blue shirt and a red one because she missed color. She would try to be as comfortable in her own skin as Ada clearly was in her's.

Wearing the new red shirt, she sat at their usual table at their favorite little restaurant and looked around at their foursome.

Ada, tall and beautiful and dressed like a . . . Yasmine wan't really sure. Somehow, she still managed to pull it off. Deep in the midst of some story, Ada was sitting so still, her posture absolutely perfect, her dusty timbred voice even and in control. You had to give credit were it was due; Ada may not talk a lot, but when she did, you listened. Ada could hold the masses in thrall. That girl could tell a story.

Sometimes, Yasmine had to correct people when they said Ada was shy. She was not shy; she just didn't see the need for chit-chat with strangers. She honed her Instabook followers list down to those she only really liked and you had to prove your worth to be accepted virtually by her ("I don't understand the point of collecting followers you either don't want to or never have a conversation with in real life."). But if she needed to be the center of attention for some reason, she stood tall and straight, accepting the spotlight with poise and ease. Some people said she was stuck up, and, although Yasmine could understand where that impression came from, Ada's disinterest was not malicious. Yes, her brutal honestly could seem cruel at times. She had this innate sense of her place in the universe, and she wore her assignment seriously if lightly. You think you can imagine what it's like until you meet one, or live with one, but a genius' mind really is on a completely separate plane. Ada was never purposely rude; in fact, thanks to her Grandmother Fowler whom she mentioned in revered tones, she was polite in a quaint, old-fashioned sense: hot beverages and thank-you cards on monogramed stationary. Ada remained the most self-possessed person Yasmine had ever met.

Jacob. Now, he was shy, although, the more Yasmine got to know him, the more she liked him. He was physically awkward, with his bouncing and his fidgeting, but his recent short haircut and new contact lenses had improved his looks enormously. He actively shrank from any spotlight, and it was only in Ada's presence that he seemed lighter. Although she didn't know or understand the whole story, Ada had explained his parents' divorce had somehow contributed to his nervous manner. But he was kind and he was very intelligent in his own right, and sometimes Yasmine got lost listening to him and Ada have a conversation. Ada may have been an idiosyncratic geek, but Jacob was a full stop nerd. You had to be a nerd to be president of the MIT chess club and start an MIT horticulture club.

"Why do I imagine him having one those giant people-eating plants like in  _Little Shop of Horrors_?" Yasmine asked the evening Jacob posted the announcement on Instabook. She and Ada were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, half-watching  _Jeopardy!,_  battling to shout out answers first. Ada, as usual, was in the lead, although Potent Potables and Popular Music were both categories so Yasmine had hopes for a tie.

"What's _Little Shop of Horrors_?" Ada asked.

Yasmine rolled her eyes. "Sometimes your pop culture knowledge is profoundly anemic. You should brush up, for  _Jeopardy!_ if nothing else." She paused. "Has Jacob ever had a girlfriend?"

"Not that I know of. He's dated a few times. And he had an almost-girlfriend our senior year of high school," Ada explained.

"An almost-girlfriend?"

"It was actually Sophie. You met her, right, our freshman year?" Yasmine nodded, remembering Ada's high school friend that it seemed like she'd lost touch with. She briefly wondered if she'd been struck from the Instabook list. "He had a huge crush on her, and she agreed to go to prom with him."

"And?" Yasmine prompted, turning on her end of the sofa.

Ada shrugged. "It didn't go well. Sophie accused Jacob of ruining her prom."

"Did he? What happened?" Yasmine leaned forward.

"It's not my story to tell." Then Ada's eyebrows went up. "Unless someone official asks. Then it's only my story to tell. Jacob had nothing to do with it."

"What? Come on, Ada! You can't just dangle that in front of me and not tell me the whole story!"

"No. It's not my story to tell." She reached over to open her iKindle and stopping yelling  _Jeopardy!_  answers, which Yasmine knew was the signal that the topic was closed.

Now Yasmine watched Jacob responding to Ada's story, telling his own little anecdote, his hands practically wringing in front of him, as he didn't like to be the center of attention. She saw Ada's hand reach over to gently lay a single fingertip on the back of one of Jacob's hands and they instantly stilled. Yasmine raised her eyebrows. It occurred to her that this was a long practiced habit between them, and neither one of them realized it was occurring, as there was not a single break in Jacob's story or Ada's attentiveness.

She glanced over at Dylan, to see if he noticed, but he sitting there mute, as usual, although he was gazing at Ada with a soft face. Yes, maybe she had been too harsh on him. Maybe it wasn't that he was just all inertia, without any sense of his own animation. Maybe he hadn't just stumbled across a beautiful girl who somehow agreed to be his girlfriend. Yasmine had no idea what went on behind his closed door, maybe he really was an active participant in their relationship. Yes, his gaze looked more like zoned-out daydreaming, but maybe it really was admiration and love - No, Yasmine shook her head, she was turning over a new leaf and would only think kind things about him because he was important to Ada.

That spring, Ada went to Japan to study abroad. Yasmine missed her presence in their little pseudo-apartment, oddities and all. Even though Ada was a generally quiet person, Yasmine missed the flashes of color as she walked by, the constant guessing of what her costume du jour was, the sound of her stylus on her tablet as she was drawing, the way she held the marker in front of her chin while standing at the her white board and pursed her lips above it when she was thinking, the way she always knew when Yasmine was frustrated by something and needed a hot beverage or the most amazing, gooiest grilled cheese sandwich Yasmine had ever had ("Grandmother taught me how to make it"). Without Ada, their little foursome never gathered. Although Yasmine didn't really miss seeing Dylan around, she missed Jacob's nervous little conversations. Jacob. What was he up to without Ada? All chess club and growing plants named Audrey? Probably. Yasmine smiled. Poor backwards Jacob. She wondered if he was a virgin. Probably. He was a nice guy. Smart. For just a second, a thought lingered in Yasmine's imagination, and then she pushed it away. No, she told herself, ashamed for even having thought it. Even though she could probably make it happen, it wouldn't be right. She could not and would not ruin the possibility of a someday for her best friend.

Instead, when Yasmine called him up, she only asked him if he'd like to go out for coffee.

"Sure," Jacob said. "Actually, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"To meet?"

"I've been seeing this girl, and Ada's not around to give her opinion, you know." Yasmine saw him shrug on his end of the screen. "Her name is Bertha."

"That's unfortunate," Yasmine said. "Oh, sorry."

Jacob smiled. "No, you're right. Gosh, you almost sounded like Ada there for a second."

That's when Yasmine realized it was even worse than she thought. So she met Jacob and Bertha for coffee. Bertha was loud and talkative and fluttering; Yasmine didn't know if these obvious differences relieved her or troubled her. Bertha was in the middle of yet another story, when she said something about a prom.

"Prom?" Yasmine asked. She turned slightly at the table. "Jacob, what happened at your prom?"

"Nothing." But the fidgeting had started.

"That's not true. Ada said there's a story, but she refused to tell me."

"It's her decision. It's her story to tell, not mine." Full hand wringing now. Yasmine put a finger out to touch his hand, like Ada did, but it didn't work. He pulled his hands away but kept on twisting them.

"Funny, that's the exact same thing she told me."

"Who's Ada?" Bertha asked.

Yasmine turned to her with eyebrows high. She knew Jacob and Ada were in communication, their names had passed each other's lips when Yasmine had talked to each of them. She knew they had a long habit of playing virtual chess and talking throughout it. "Jacob hasn't mentioned his best childhood friend of all time?" Bertha shook her head, and that's when Yasmine realized it was far, far worse than she'd thought.

"Listen -" Jacob said suddenly, and, Yasmine thought, too conspicuously, " - prom was a long time ago. I did something for a friend, and a friend did something for me. Because that's what friends do, they do something noble and they don't expect anything in return. They defend and protect each other."

Biting off her questions, Yasmine didn't say anything about Ada the rest of the night, regretting she'd brought it up here, now. But it was apparently too late, anyway. It was the last she ever heard or saw of Bertha.

* * *

Senior

Love. Making love. Of course, both of these things were calmer and more sedate than her mother led her to believe. It was in Mom's nature, Ada knew, to over romanticize things. Not that she doubted her parents loved each other, embarrassingly so, but that silly dreamy look Mom got on her face whenever she talked about Dad . . . it was all a bit too much to be believed, wasn't it?

Ada had suffered that dreamy look too much when she was younger. An event, no matter how trivial, never happened growing up that Mom wouldn't make into a lecture or a teaching lesson. Feminism, female empowerment, respect your body, etc., etc., etc. Love and sex were discussed in the most holy and most cringeworthy tones ever. Ada, too, believed that knowledge was power, but did it ever occur to Mom that the last person Ada wanted giving her knowledge about sex as "a celebration of love and the pleasure of the one's body" was her mother? Who was doing her celebrating with her father? Ugh. There were dozens of times, suffering through her mother's lectures, Ada had just wanted her mattress to open up and swallow her. Honestly, why couldn't Mom just have handed her a book about it all, a biological textbook, and left it at that? Or stuck to just the facts, not rhapsodizing about it. Why?

Because Mom believed she had the power to make Ada's life perfect. Mom devoted her life to this task. There had been times Ada felt like she was suffocating under all the wishful thinking of her mother. Even now, at age nineteen, having made peace with it, now seeing that it was well meant, and sometimes even missing her mother so much it hurt, Ada would feel her back bristle at a stray comment here or there. It was partly, she knew, a difference of opinion. Mom had shared with Ada that her childhood was not as idyllic as she thought it should be, that secrets had been kept. But Ada just couldn't see it; she had loved and adored Grandmother Fowler. She could talk to her about anything without getting overwrought about it. They had both understood this on some basic level. "No need to make a fuss, dear." Wouldn't the world be more harmonious if everyone understood that?

So, tangents aside, of course having sex with Dylan didn't cause angels to sing or rainbows to shoot through her body or teddy bears to cry or whatever it was Mom claimed. Real sex was like this: nothing fancy, really only two positions, certainly no loud or lewd noises. Many real woman didn't have orgasms from sexual intercourse. Studies supported this. Real men, the gentlemen, weren't constantly horny and always trying to initiate. No one actually stumbled through their house tearing their clothes off or played strip games or wore costumes. Seduction was for romance novels. Instead, Ada and Dylan had a simple system. Ada would ask, "Would you like to make love?" And Dylan would reply either "Sure" or "Not tonight." No need to make a fuss.

Oh, there had been a time or two Ada had asked Dylan to try something new, and Dylan had brushed the suggestion away with a brief and final "I like it simple" or "I don't like oral." There, see: honest, calm, adult conversations. No need to make a fuss. And, yes, there had been some annoyance that Dylan wouldn't stay awake to at least listen to her enjoy herself afterwards, but she may have been too embarrassed anyway. There, see: he was respectful of her privacy. Maybe she wouldn't have minded deep conversations afterwards instead of a peck on the cheek and a "That was nice. Goodnight," but did she honestly believe her parents discussed the meaning of the universe or the last digit of pi or the innermost secrets of their souls during or after sex? No, of course not. No need to make a fuss. If the very thought hadn't make her shiver in disgust, the idea of her father saying something romantic or, heaven forbid, sexy in bed would have made Ada laugh.

No, her mother had dreamed it all up, in her overly romantic imagination. Although Ada really tried not to think about her parents in the bedroom, she suspected it was very much like being in Dylan's bedroom when she spent the night. Calm, adult sex. Just like their love: calm, adult. Too high of a high meant too low of a low and they both knew it without discussing it. No need to make a fuss.

"Obviously we're in love. We've been together two years," Ada huffed in the middle of one her almost-tiffs with Yasmine about him. Why shouldn't Dylan play a gig for singles on Valentine's Day? Stupid Hallmark holiday, anyway. Never mind that her carefully selected Valentines, the product of an hour spent on the virtual Hallmark store, were already addressed in red calligraphy and stamped in custom stamps and ready to send in the old fashioned mail to everyone she cared about.

"Being together and being in love are not the same thing," Yasmine pointed out.

"Well, it feels like forever, and that's a good thing to me," Ada said.

"I'm not sure that's a ringing endorsement either, Junior." Yasmine shook her head and turned away, letting the topic drop.

Ada looked over at her. Yasmine was her best friend, her roommate for almost four years now, long after the majority of freshman roommates were looked back on as unfortunate pairings. The past two years, without discussion, they'd submitted the same form to their house, saying they wanted to stay together. On the whole, she'd improved with time. Yasmine had softened and matured and given up her ridiculous fake accents and black wardrobe and grown into herself. At first, in the tiny freshman dorm room, Ada had disliked her immensely, and she was angry at her parents for forcing this roommate agreement upon her. Dad had gone to college at age eleven, why couldn't he trust her to do the same at five years older? She'd immediately sensed that many of Yasmine's traits were overcompensation, that she was so desperate to fit in, to not be a minority or the refugee she still thought she was. This had baffled Ada; why would anyone want to be something or someone they weren't? But, gradually, Yasmine had shed her fake punk-rocker skin without losing any of her attitude and sass, and Ada was, quite simply, crazy about her.

But Yasmine never really liked Dylan, just tolerated him for Ada's sake. Even though her comments had become softer and much less frequent in the past year or so, it still hurt Ada that her best friend didn't believe in this relationship like she did. Part of the problem was that Ada always the feeling that Yasmine knew something, or at least believed she knew something, that Ada did not and that she was forcibly holding herself back from saying it. It was the only true source of contention left between them.

Sighing and looking back at her tablet, Ada shook her head. She didn't have time for this. Here it was, late January, and she'd yet to pick her graduate course. Several schools had accepted her conditionally for mathematics, but she wasn't sure that was exactly what she wanted to do. And then there was Dylan. Harvard had accepted her, maybe she should just stay here.

"Oh," Yasmine said suddenly.

Ada looked up. "What?"

"Will Shortz died. You know, the former editor of  _The New York Times_ crosswords puzzles?"

"That's unfortunate," Ada said. "Mom will be sad. She's quite the crossword puzzle fan."

"Hey, did you know this?" Yasmine asked, still reading her own screen, "'He is the only person known to hold a college degree in enigmatology, the study of puzzles. Shortz achieved this feat by designing his own curriculum through Indiana University's Individualized Major Program.'" She looked up. "Can you imagine a degree in puzzles? Will they really let you get a degree in anything?"

"No, you can't get your degree in sex, drugs, and rock n' roll," Ada said.

"Aww, too late." Yasmine smiled. "I'm too old for that now. Besides, I'll never catch the next George Clooney if I don't become Britain's next top civil rights barrister."

Smiling back, Ada felt a tug in her chest. Only three more months, and their lives would change all over again. Yasmine would be off to Cambridge, Jacob was returning to Los Angeles to work, and she was getting her PhD . . . somewhere. In something broader than she wanted. Why couldn't she get it just in geometry? Or even geometry combined with topology? Was there really so little left to know about geometry that no school could imagine spending years studying it and -

"Wait a minute. Individualized Major Program?" Ada asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Yasmine touched her screen. "At Indiana University. Isn't that somewhere one flies over?"

"Maybe," Ada murmured, already redirecting her browser.

"Oh, Ada has an inkling! Here comes the ruminating!" Yasmine sang. That had been around for four years, too, and, in that time, Ada had gone from hating it to loving it. "Listen, before you fall deep in your stupor, what are you going to do about Dylan?"

Ada looked up sharply. "I haven't decided," she confessed. She wanted Yasmine to say something negative about him, but she just nodded softly.

"Well, whatever you decide, I've got your back, Junior. I just want you to be happy, even if it is with Dylan." It was the sincerity that hurt the most.

But Ada nodded it away and looked back at her tablet, letting the fog of an idea, of making new plans enshroud her. Tentative inquiring emails were sent, polite responses were received, an application was accepted, and phone calls were had that were positive and optimistic. A decision was made. But only one of two that needed to be determined.

"Dylan?"

"Yes?" He didn't look up from the magazine he was reading, sitting in his favorite old beat up chair, his long legs stretched in front of him.

"Can you look at me? I have something important to say." He complied. "I've made a decision. I'm going to get my PhD at Indiana University. They have an Individualized Major Program and, while no one has used it for a PhD yet, everyone I've spoken to there says they would be open to considering it. And, even if they don't approve it, I'll just get my PhD in mathematics. It's the only option I have anywhere else, anyway."

"Okay. Cool," he smiled.

Ada took a deep breath. "We need to decide what to do about us."

The smile fell. "You know I don't like angst and confrontation. Let's just make a decision."

No need to make a fuss. They would decide something like adults and see it through. "Good. How about . . ." She swallowed. "How about you move to Indiana with me? We could live together." A pause. "You don't have to decide right now. I'm just asking you to consider it. I understand it's a big step, because your friends are here and your music gigs and everything. I am also aware it's a big step for us."

Dylan didn't reply right away, which didn't concern Ada. He was thinking. That was why they were so well suited: he was being thoughtful and calm. No ripples in their relationship. "Okay, sure."

"Really? Just like that?" Ada asked, incredulous at the ease with which this had been determined, after weeks of her inner turmoil.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Dylan, you're the best!" Without thinking, she threw herself at him, landing on his lap, wrapping her arms about him that that old chair, even though demonstrative wasn't really their thing.

"Uh, Ada? What's wrong with you?" he asked, pushing her away slightly.

She was so pleased she wouldn't have to start over alone in Indiana that she didn't answer.

Near the end, time sped up. Plans were finalized, exams were taken, long good-byes were begun. Suddenly, it seemed it was a Thursday morning at the end of May, and Ada stood next to Yasmine in their matching black gowns.

"Are you nervous about your oration?" Ada asked.

"Terrified. But," Yasmine took a deep breath, "it's good practice for the Supreme Court." Ada smiled. "I'm still surprised to you didn't try for the oration competition."

Shaking her had, Ada looked down to pick a piece of lint of her graduation gown. "No, you know I don't seek the spotlight."

"But you're so good when you're in it," Yasmine said. "Although maybe the Sophia Freund prize  _and_  the oration prize would have been a bit flashy, even for you."

Before she could reply, there was knock at the door, and the private moment was lost as all their parents arrived together, flooding around the moving boxes to give hugs. It was over in a flash, it seemed, even Yasmine's beautiful speech. Suddenly, her tassel was on the other side of her mortarboard, and Ada was a Harvard graduate. There were so many pictures to take: with her beaming parents, hugging her dearest friend and roommate, and some with Dylan's arm loosely holding her around the waist. Her only wish was that Jacob could have been there, but his own commencement was tomorrow and his parents and Lucy would be arriving today. Not that Ada would have had enough tickets for him, anyway.

They all went out to eat together, everyone laughing and in good spirits, buoyed by the joy of a milestone achieved. Of course, it was still stilted between Ada parents and Dylan, but she squared her shoulders and determined not to let it get to her. They were just unhappy about the move, she reasoned; Dad was so old-fashioned he'd actually used the term "living in sin." That didn't bother her, actually. For two and half years she had just wanted her father to be himself, to express him opinions forcefully, even hysterically, like he would about anything else. But he was always so reticent on the topic of Dylan. After first, Ada had assumed this was Mom's doing. But then, and there were not words express how much this hurt her, she came to think perhaps her father truly just didn't care about Dylan. So she'd almost wept in relief with Dad become hysterical when she told them at Spring Break, raving about wasting her life and making mistakes and living in sin, and she'd thrown her arms around him and squeezed him time.

"Oh, Dad, you do care," she'd sobbed.

"Hey, kid," he'd squeezed back, his voice becoming soft and heavy, "I care about you and your happiness more than you'll ever know. Is this really what you want? A bohemian existence in the Midwest?"

"Yes," she'd whispered. "Captain Janeway lived there."

"Okay." A soft sigh. "Just please don't turn into a hippy and stop wearing deodorant."

Now, at her graduation dinner, Ada reached her hand across the table and squeezed her father's aging one, and he looked up, surprised. Ada used her free hand to blow him a kiss, and he reached up and grabbed the invisible token of love and pretended to slide it in his suit pocket. Too soon, the moment was lost in conversation and then, equally soon, the night was over as everyone went their separate ways.

The second knock at the door of the day surprised her. The little apartment was quiet again, still and hushed, as the campus buzzed around it. Ada was relishing the quiet after such a busy and momentous day. After three majors in four years, it felt good to sit down and read in silence.

But once she looked through the peephole, she smiled and happily opened the door. "Jacob! What are you doing here? You have your own commencement tomorrow."

"I had to go to the grocery store." He patted the bag in his hands.

"There at least a dozen grocery stores and markets between your apartment and Harvard," Ada said, raising an eyebrow.

Jacob sighed softly. "Okay, I couldn't leave without saying good-bye."

"It's not good-bye. We'll still see each other in California when I come home to visit."

He shrugged. "But it will be different. I've gotten used to your baby face around."

"Stop calling me that."

Smiling, he said, "Honestly, I can't stay long with my family in town and everything. Are your parents back at the hotel?" Ada nodded. "Where's Yasmine?"

"Some party. For old times sake, she said," Ada explained.

He laughed. "That sounds about right." A pause. "Well, I just wanted to wish you well. You're going out next week, right?"

"Yes. To look for a place to rent. Once I find one, Dylan's coming out." Then she added in a rush, "Not because he's leaving all the work to me, but because he wants me to find a place I like. That's quiet for my studies. He's being considerate."

Jacob wrinkled his brow. "Uh, sure. I didn't say he wasn't."

"Sorry." That was unfair. Jacob had never once said one negative thing about Dylan or her relationship with him. That was all Yasmine's doing. Ada sighed. "Yasmine disapproves. I'm used to having arguments at the ready. You know how she is."

"She's going to be an amazing lawyer. She terrifies me sometimes still."

Ada chuckled.

"Have your parents made peace with it? Living with a boy?" he asked.

"I suppose. More like they've resigned themselves to my legal independence." She bit her lip and sighed harder. Perhaps she had made some form of peace, but Mom just smiled broadly, all teeth, that fake smile Ada knew well. It was the force of her mother's positive thinking, of her need to put on a happy face to Ada when she didn't feel it, that weighed heavily.

Jacob shifted and rummaged in his bag. "Here," he said pulling a can out.

Ada took it, surprised that it was cold. "Mountain Dew? Uncle Stuart isn't here."

"Actually, it was your dad who taught me to drink the strong stuff when I had troubles," Jacob said, opening his own can.

"Really, Dad?" Ada shook her head, wondering why Jacob would come prepared with Mountain Dew. "It's not troubles. At least not for me. I'm happy. Dylan's happy. It's just my parents. There's all this strange tension still. I think that Mom - and maybe Dad, too, I don't know - thinks that Dylan can't be the one because it's too easy."

"Easy?" Jacob asked, taking a drink.

"Yeah. How we met, that we're so well suited, that we get along so well. Or maybe that I'm too young to find 'the one.'" She made air quotes around the words before she reached down to open her can of soda. "It's so hypocritical because she and Dad are so much alike. But it's like she believes the one is a lightening strike, something violent, not something sensible and comfortable. That you have to work hard to find the one, that you have to have all this pain and all these emotions for the one. Like it's a trial and you have to prove your love. She even quotes from  _The Little Prince_ \- you know, that children's book - about how working hard for your love is what makes it special. But why does it have to be such hard work? Why can't the one just be right in front of you all along?"

"Indeed," Jacob said softly.

"I'm sorry. I'm rambling. It's beneath me," Ada said, taking a drink.

"You weren't rambling," Jacob said. "You should feel strongly about Dylan, since he's the one."

"Exactly. I wish everyone else would understand that. It should be apparent as we're moving across the country together."

"Obviously."

"It's such a relief to talk to you, Jacob. You've always understood me." Ada smiled softly and took another drink.

"I try. You're a tough nut to crack, Ada Cooper." He took a deep breath. "Listen, sorry I upset you. I really did come to say congratulations and wish you well in graduate school."

"Thank you. Any leads on a job?"

Jacob shook his head. "Not really. It doesn't help that I'm not exactly sure what I want to do yet."

"I'm sure you'll find something. You're such a smart man," Ada said.

"Thanks." He smiled, and then he put his can out in front of him. "To the future."

Ada grinned and touched hers to it. "To the future."

After they each took their drink, Jacob sat down on her sofa, as though he'd never said he didn't have the time to stay, and said, "So, Jesus Christ, tell me how you're going to save the backwoods of Indiana."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that, either," Ada said, but with a laugh, as she sat down next to him, tucking her legs under her and talking to him until well after midnight as though he didn't have to leave, as if those four crucial years weren't drawing to a close, as if their paths weren't dividing.

* * *

**_Thank you for sticking around for such a lengthy (and unconventional) After Dark! And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	106. The Guest Cat

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**Septemer 2022**

**Primary Topic: _The Guest Cat_  by Takashi Hiraide**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Le Petit Prince_  by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,  _One Day_  by David Nicolls, and  _Mog the Forgetful Cat_  by Judith Kerr**

* * *

"Right there."

"Mmmmmm."

"Oh, yeah, that's the spot."

"Harder."

"Oh, yes, this is good."

"Oh, God. Mmmmmm."

"Yes, yes, just like that."

"Oh, Sheldon . . . your hands are magic."

Sheldon grinned and looked across the couch at his wife, stretched out with abandonment, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other dangling off the edge. He replaced her stocking covered foot to its spot in his lap and picked up the other one.

"Oh, Sheldon, yes," she moaned again.

"Some people would say now is not the time to say I told you so, but -" he took a deep breath "- I told you if you wore those high heels all day you'd regret it."

"Mmmmmm. Right now, you could probably say anything you want and get away with it," Amy said, her voice dreamy. "In fact, this is so good that when you get done I'll do any dirty thing you want. You name it."

"No, you won't." He applied extra pressure to the ball of her foot and another moan escaped her lips. "Look at you. You're so relaxed you're practically dripping over the edge of the sofa. You don't have the strength."

"I'll rally."

He shook his head softly and chuckled. "Raincheck?"

"Deal." Then she took her arm off her face and raised her head, reaching up to brush her bangs out of her eyes. "Ada's door is shut, right?"

"Of course. Do you really think I would let my child listen to her mother make pornographic sounds and discuss sexual plans?"

"I am not making pornographic sounds!" Amy protested weakly, before Sheldon wiggled his knuckle in the way he knew she particularly liked just to prove his point, and Amy collapsed back with another, "Oh, God!"

"She's asleep. I checked. You must be tired if you lost all track of time. It's after 9:00," he explained softly. He looked over at her, her eyes closed again but her face exposed. He really didn't like her new hair cut. It was too short in the back, and he hated the way the bangs obscured her lovely features. The trip to the expensive hairdresser had been a gift from Penny, and, although he knew Amy enjoyed being fussed over, he missed his Amy. Today, she had even wore her fancy Chanel suit, whatever that was, that she had bought for Denmark. And the high heels.

Amy sighed. "Ugh. I'm sorry I was later than I said I'd be. You know how these things go, you have to answer all the questions otherwise someone will feel snubbed and not give your program those extra few million dollars they have just laying around."

Sheldon's hand stopped in surprise. "Few million dollars?" Then he resumed his ministrations, rubbing her calves now.

"Yes, several million dollars. I told you I need either donations or a new grant for the next level of my study. To prove and expand on my initial findings."

"Of course. And to think all I need is a new package of dry erase markers every month. My mind runs on its own brilliance, the world's best regenerative motor." He paused. "Do you think you were successful?"

"It's too early to know. But I feel good about it. So the shoes were worth it." Amy pulled her legs away and sat up on her end of the sofa. She rubbed her bangs away again; she was doing that all that time. He wondered if she really liked them herself. "How was your evening?"

"Good. Ada played while I cooked, we ate, we played a round of mini golf -" he waved toward the week's arrangement of the Nerf indoor golf set scattered around the great room "- and we worked on her gravity maze before bed. Well, first we played Catan Junior but she beat me so quickly it was a waste of time. I was thinking we should get her Mastermind, she's outgrowing Catan Junior. Or even regular Catan. She needs something more strategy driven," Sheldon explained, reaching down to straighten Amy's discarded heels on the rug.

"Whatever you think is best. You're the gamer." She paused. "Are you wearing a different shirt?"

Sheldon looked down at his shirt, even though he knew exactly which one it was. "I had to change. Helping her with her shower got me all wet."

Amy chuckled. "You could have just given her a bath and saved yourself some trouble."

"No," Sheldon shook his head, "I agree with you that she should be old enough to take a shower now. She certainly thinks she's independent enough."

"And you don't?" She was still smiling.

"She kept getting angry with me when I would peek around the shower curtain to make sure she was scrubbing her hair enough. Or washing behind her ears. Or -"

"I think you worry too much," Amy said gently. "She is your daughter, remember? My experience has been that she's actually pretty thorough in the shower."

Shrugging, Sheldon said, "Book Club?"

"Sounds lovely. But first, is there any food left? What did you eat?" Amy got up from the sofa.

"Fajitas. As per your menu," Sheldon said, following after her toward the kitchen. "Didn't you eat at your fundraiser?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Raw vegetables and shrimp cocktail. I never eat much in case the broccoli gets stuck in my teeth or the cocktail sauce drips down my dress," Amy said, pulling containers out of the refrigerator.

"Should you be eating this late? Won't you have trouble sleeping?"

Amy shook her head. "I'm going to sleep like a log tonight."

Sheldon watched her arranging her chicken, peppers, and onion on a plate before turning to put them in the microwave. "Tomato?" He grabbed a knife out of the block and a tomato out of the bowel to slice for her.

"Yes, thank you."

Amy stood silently next to him, watching, until he heard her stifle a yawn. He looked up. "Do you want to change? You're still in your fancy suit. I'll finish this."

"You're the best." Amy reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek before she hurried down the hallway.

"I know!" he called after her. Finished slicing the tomatoes, he re-arranged her plate the way he know she'd like it: smaller pieces of tomatoes mixed with the chicken and peppers, a small dollop of sour cream on top, the extra tomato slices fanned out next to it. He thought briefly about warming a tortilla for her, but she probably wouldn't want one anyway, since she generally tried to avoid too many carbohydrates.

He'd just set her silverware on the table, when she returned, looked like his most relaxed Amy, in sweatpants and her 'I'd Rather be Reading' tee shirt. She'd even pinned her bangs back with a barrette, although bits of them were rebelling and poking up at odd angles. Her hair was still too short and too dark - all the little hints of sparkly silver had been dyed away, too - but at least he could see her face.

"That's better," he said.

His wife looked up at him quizzically. "What?"

"I mean - you look more comfortable," he said.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes slightly. Sheldon held his breath as he saw her debate whether or not to let this lie pass. "Is that all?" she asked.

He shook his head softly. "I just liked your hair better longer."

"It's my hair, I can do whatever I want with it," she said, jutting her jaw out a little in that way she had when she was being defiant.

Throwing his hands up, Sheldon said quickly, "I know. I know. I'm not telling you what to do with your hair. I'm just telling you the truth. I liked it better longer and pulled back from your face. I even liked the silver strands -"

"Gray," Amy frowned, interrupting him.

"No, they were silver. Because, when you turned your head, I could see all those photons bouncing off your hair, and I thought it was pretty, like I could watch your brain create ideas. But it's your hair."

Her eyes were searching him, he could feel it. But then she relaxed her arms and smiled slightly and gave him the look she always gave him when he pleased her in some fashion. Then she looked down at the table as she pulled out her chair and said, "Aw, this is beautiful. You always arrange the most attractive plates."

"Thank you. I thought it should be, since it's not technically fajitas without a tortilla," he said, pulling out his chair to join her.

Amy chuckled. "I think since Americans made up fajitas, we're not offending anyone's culture to eat them the wrong way."

Sheldon smiled. Then he sparked with an idea. "We should have had sushi."

Because her mouth was full, Amy could only respond by raising her eyebrows slightly and then her lips turned up a little. After she swallowed, she said, "Oh, yes, Book Club."

"You say that as though you forgot. You're the one who picked this book," Sheldon said. "And don't think that I don't know what you were doing."

"What?" Amy asked, making her eyes improbably round. She'd been hanging out with Penny for too long.

"I will not let you and Ada gang up on me in this fashion," he said forcefully, pushing his index finger down on the table top.

"Remember that one Book Club when you told me that sometimes I can be convinced by a book and not by you?" Amy asked.

"No, I said, and I quote: 'because you sometimes respond better to suggestions when they're in a book,'" he quickly corrected her.

"Regardless of the exact verbiage, two can play your game," she said with a little smirk, taking another bite.

"No. It is not happening. Just remove the thought from your pretty and otherwise brilliant mind." Sheldon took a deep breath. "Is that the entire reason you selected this book? Because, if so, I feel there is not much to discuss."

Amy shrugged. "No. I'd heard good things about it. We haven't read a Japanese author yet, and I thought it was about time we did. And we said we wanted something calm and simple after last time."

Sheldon nodded. "Yes."

"Plus, we've had a lot of change and excitement lately: Ada's tests, deciding about her schooling, her new schedule with Mother, the trip to Copenhagen, trying to obtain funding for the next phase of my study. I don't know, I just wasn't in the mood for a heavy or long book." She paused to take another bite. "Besides, I think there is plenty to discuss."

"There is?"

"Of course. There is always plenty to discuss in everything we read," Amy protested. "Why don't you tell me what you thought it was about?"

"It was about a couple who did not have their own pets, but instead quasi-adopted the cat belonging to their neighbor. The cat would let itself in through an open window and they would feed it and gave it a box to sleep in. They became emotionally attached - perhaps even overly attached - so that when the cat died they were distraught. Additionally, when the neighbor discovered they had been loving and caring for her cat, some tension developed," Sheldon said.

"How . . . succinct." Amy took a drink of her water.

"I should hope so."

Amy sighed. "Well, yes, that's all true. But this book is about so much more than the cat. It's about loving and losing. The things we keep, both tangibly and metaphorically, and the things we let go."

Thinking for a moment, Sheldon said, "So you're saying the whole book is a metaphor? Or an allegory, like  _Le Petit Prince_?"

"No." Amy shook her head. "I do think it's meant to be an actual story, a straightforward version of events involving the neighbor's cat and this couple's interaction with it. But I think the story is used as a jumping off point for all those deeper, more complex themes. Otherwise, why bring up things like the older landlord's passing or the search for a new apartment?"

"I thought it was meandering."

"It was," Amy nodded. "But in this book, I think it was done on purpose. I'm not an expert on Japanese language or culture, but it seemed very meditative to me. There were those descriptions of the floor plan of their house or how to perform triangular surveying . . . I don't think they were meant to progress the plot. I think they were purposely used to stall it, to make the reader slow down and think about other things."

Sheldon wrinkled his brow. Now that Amy explained it that way, it did seem to make more sense. He was loath to admit he wasn't an expert on anything, but perhaps Amy was correct that this was an example of being lost in translation. "So what do you think the theme is really supposed to be?"

"What I said, about the things we keep and the things we let go. But also, maybe, that moving on is a form of growth. That change is inevitable, and its our reactions to those changes that matter the most."

"Hmmmmm," Sheldon said, turning the novel over and over in his mind. It was a short novel, a novella really, and he drew the images of various pages up into his mind, to read the words again. "I thought it was very domestic. Is that a theme, too, do you think?"

Amy smiled. "I can see that. Both of the protagonists work from home, there are a lot of details about their home, the arrangement of the rooms and the furniture, the search for a new home . . . yes. Or maybe, even more than those prosaic details, it's about the moments that make up our lives."

"The little moments."

"Yes, exactly! I know I was just saying our life as been full of big moments lately, but, on the whole, we'll discover it's mostly full of little moments. And those moments have their own joys, too."

"Is this another example of your favorite 'it's the imperfections that makes it perfect' speech?"

His wife tilted her head and glared at him. "Once, Sheldon. I said it once. At a Book Club." She paused. "You now, you've brought it up far more than me since then. One might think that it's actually your pet philosophy now."

"I - No - I- " He sighed heavily. "Not imperfections, really. Just . . . Mom says sometimes that 'it's the little things.'"

"Yes." Amy reached for his hand. "Like tonight. Absolutely nothing exciting has happened tonight. I worked late, you played games with Ada, you helped me make dinner, I'm even wearing sweatpants. And, yet, after I got home, I've enjoyed every second."

A memory came back to him. An almost-argument, a near fight in the past. About whether or not it was better for their lives and marriage to proceed at a steady, even keel or whether there should be highs and lows of passion and joy and disappointments. But did . . . Squeezing her hand, Sheldon said, "I owe you an apology."

"For what?" Amy lowered her fork just before she was about to take a bite.

"Do you remember when I became . . . agitated because I thought you were resigned about our marriage?" He leaned in closer, not letting go of her hand.

"Um . . . no, not really."

"When we read  _One Day,_  and you wanted a pragmatic approach, a steady pulse of pleasure and satisfaction?"

"Oh, yes, I remember now." Amy frowned. "You don't own me an apology. That was a wonderful day. And you were - are - a wonderful man. That whole conversation was my fault." She shook her head. "I thought we had let it go."

"We did. But now I realize I wrong."

"How?"

"I still want the highs. Very much so. And I'm not being foolish, I know there will still be lows. But I do want a steady, simple, calm domestic life with you." He licked his lips and looked down at her hand. She had painted her nails a creamy color for this evening.

"Sheldon?" He looked up. "Thank you. But I already knew that. I know it every day. When you do something as simple as cut a tomato for my fajitas for me because you know I like them. When you rub my feet. Even when you get all wet because you're so particular about our daughter." She took deep breath. "I know you may find this difficult to understand because of your memory, but most nights are already like this. Nothing special has happened here. It's like so many other nights: utterly forgettable. I am unlikely to remember the foot massage or the tomato. No one is writing this or any other Book Club down for posterity. But that doesn't make it any less special. Just because something is small and fleeting does not mean it does not add joy to our overall existence. But you already knew that, too."

Sheldon nodded.

Amy's hand pulled away from him as she stood. Before she reached for her plate, she bent over to kiss the top of his head. Sheldon watched her precise movements in the kitchen, the way she loaded the dishwasher and took the now dirty butcher block cutting board to the sink to wash it. He never tired of watching her, even in these little domestic tasks, but he so rarely felt it was polite for him to stare at her. Even though he suspected she knew and did not mind.

A quote from the book bubbled up in his memory: ". . . observation is at its core an expression of love which doesn't get caught up in sentiment." He considered telling her. Would she like that, that it reminded him of her? She probably would. Would she give him that look she always gave when he had pleased her in some way? Or maybe, if he was very lucky, she would bat her eyelashes and hush "oh, Sheldon" in that way that skipped his ears to reverberate directly against his heart.

Before he could speak, though, Amy said, her back turned to him at the sink, "You know, Sheldon, a cat is small and fleeting, too."

He groaned and stood. "Why did you have to ruin it?" He meant it in more ways that she could have known.

She looked over her shoulder at the sink as he approached. "It's not ruining it. I'm trying to have a reasonable discussion with you. Ada wants a cat. I don't think it's a passing fancy. She's wanted one ever since she read  _Mog_. And I think it's time we considered it."

"She doesn't need a cat, as I've said before," he protested, coming to stand close to the counter.

"Technically no. But I do think it's time to establish some sort of chore allowance reward system for her. It will teach her to be a self-starter, the value of hard work, and we can start working with her on budgeting money. It's one of the items on our list before she goes to school. Feeding a cat and cleaning its litter box are chores she can do. With supervision, of course."

"Cat feces carry toxoplasmosis," Sheldon said.

"Oh, do not argue with a biologist." Amy shook her head. "Cats only excrete the pathogen in their feces after eating an infected rodent. We have no evidence of rodent infestation in our home. Even then, cat feces are not considered contagious for the first twenty-four hours after excretion. Daily cleaning of the litter box and thorough washing of the hands afterwards will prevent that."

Amy drained the sink and reached for the hand towel. "Look how good she is with Otis, and a puppy is much more rambunctious than a cat." Sheldon shivered at the mention of Raj and Stuart's dog. "We'll get an older cat, if you like, not a little kitten. I think that would be better, anyway. It will be calmer in general with Ada." Returning the hand towel to its spot, Amy came to stand close to him. Then she said softly, "Need I remind you that you once adopted twenty-five cats yourself?"

"I'm surprised you waited so long to throw that up in my face," he grumbled.

Putting her hands up, Amy said, "I'm merely pointing out how much I know you like cats. As do I. I grew up with cats, too, remember? And, don't worry, there is no way I'm allowing you to get that many again. All I'm asking you to do is think about it, not just dismiss it out of hand."

"No, Amy, we are  _not_  getting a cat. That is non-negotiable."

* * *

She was just over a year old. She was mostly orange with little white feet, a white tip on her tail, and small white patch on her chest. Ada, over her father's loud and repeated suggestions of Hypatia, choose the name Belle, in honor of one of her favorite movies. Belle moved with grace and silence, and she rarely meowed. Amy agreed to remove the bell from her green collar.

Belle seemed to suit Ada's calm and precise nature, and she was content to sit regally with her paws tucked under her chest and supervise Ada playing with her toys. The only time she could be separated from Ada was in the late evenings, after Ada was put to bed, when Belle would spend a couple of hours with Sheldon and Amy. Then, when they opened Ada's door to check on her and turn off her reading lamp, Belle would hop up on Ada's bed and curl up next to her little human to sleep, despite the fact the door would be shut again and she would be separated from her litter box for hours. With supervision and gentle reminders, Ada accepted the necessity of the new mundane chores of feeding Belle and cleaning her box, along with a few others such as making her bed. The new chore chart on the refrigerator rapidly filled with brightly colored check marks, and the jar of wages rapidly filled with coins to be taken and sorted before the numbers were carefully logged into Ada's budget notebook. After a small deposit at the bank, the rest was then spent on a book or silly socks or a new set of colored pencils or whatever struck Ada's fancy that month.

Sheldon grudgingly admitted to Amy that the chore chart and allowance were good ideas, allowing them to instill the principles of hard work and money management into their daughter. Sheldon did not admit that he loved the way Belle would come curl up in his lap when he sat in his spot and purr while he stroked her silky fur.

But he suspected from Amy's soft, satisfied smile whenever she saw them that she already knew.

* * *

It was difficult but she explained to Penny, when asked about her roots showing, that although she remained very grateful for the gift, it just was not her and she had decided not to maintain it. She arranged with her normal hairdresser for some sort of subtle dying technique that eradicated the harsh line as her own slightly lighter natural hair color returned, gray hairs and all. Too many to pluck now, Penny was correct about that. Her hair grew quickly, and, before too long, it started to skim her shoulders again.

She admitted to Sheldon that the swooping bangs were troublesome in the lab, especially when she could not reach up to push them out of the way for fear of contaminating something. Amy did not admit that she loved the way Sheldon watched her at times while she performed small chores around the house, and that she enjoyed wondering if he actually imagined little bursts of silver photons bouncing off her locks.

But she suspected from Sheldon's gentle caresses of her hair as they snuggled in bed that he already knew.


	107. By The Numbers

**By the Numbers**

* * *

_Sheldon's hand stopped in surprise. "Few million dollars?" Then he resumed his ministrations, rubbing her calves now._

_"Yes, several million dollars. I told you I need either donations or a new grant for the next level of my study. To prove my initial findings."_

* * *

It took him far longer than it should have taken a man of his intelligence to figure it out. But then, he reasoned to reassure himself, there was less than the usual blood flow to his brain at the time.

Sheldon was not surprised by the position. This was, even if unsaid, Amy's night of celebratory sex as the funding for the second stage of her study had come through. Flushed with pride and accomplishment and determination and desire, it seemed only fitting she would want to direct the evening's activities. Not that he wouldn't have gladly pleasured her first, with relish; indeed, the sight of her helpless with physical joy brought about by his mere fingers was one his greatest sources of satisfaction. But he knew her well enough to know when she wanted to feel her own empowerment. So, when she settled over him, as he leaned back into the mountain of pillows she'd arranged, he assumed she was just settling, adjusting, finding her angle. The fits and starts didn't concern him in the least.

Perhaps, early on, it occurred to him that it was more erratic than normal, first clockwise and then switching to counterclockwise and then rapidly back again. But he was enjoying her slow groove, the feel of the soft undulation of her waist between his hands, the pressure of her palms on his chest, and, most of all, the way she closed her eyes and opened her pink lips as her own pleasure built.

But somewhere around the number nine, something tickled the edge his brain. He tried to ignore it -  _oh, God, this feels so good!_ \- but it tickled nonetheless. There it was: nine again. Then nine the other direction. And -  _Lordy! this is amazing!_ \- then ten. Clockwise. Ten. Counterclockwise. Ten. Clockwise. Ten. Counterclockwise. Ten. Clockwise.

Eleven! Even in the midst of his own building pressure, his eyebrows went up.

"Amy?" he managed.

Her eyebrows twitched and the line between her brows deepened before her eyes opened. "Yes?"

"I couldn't help but notice the sequence -"

"Shhhh." Her eyes shut again. "I'm concentrating," she whispered.

That sealed it. There was nothing desultory about this at all. There hadn't been from the start. He wouldn't thought it was possible, given how his right hand had traveled down her thigh and the slow grab had started there, but somehow the knowledge of what she was doing only heightened the sensations radiating from his core.

She was half-way through the thirteens now, and he desperately tried to hold out to complete the grouping. More importantly, he was trying to hold out for her. Surely she must be close, her breathing was so loud now, and her little peeps and squeaks of pleasure had started. Grinding his back teeth, his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her leg. "Amy, Amy, Amy . . ." he whined through his clenched teeth.  _Just one more, maybe if I count with her, oh, Amy, this is amazing! no, counting! do the math yourself! math during sex! oh, Amy! you brilliant, sexy woman, you! -_

"Noooooooo!" After only eight rotations, he brain shut off and his senses were only filled with her, the warmth of her body around him, the waves she sent up and out and from his center to fill him and surround him.

He came back, panting, to Amy's forehead resting against his. "I usually yell yes, but whatever works for you," she said softly.

"Amy, I -" he reached up for the sides of her face and backed it away so that he could see it better. She was smirking. "Oh, you're not upset."

"Not at all." She shook her head. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? I loved it!" He pulled her back for a kiss. "The Golomb sequence writ large by our genitals? You're brilliant!"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Well, that description certainly made it worth while!" She looked down at him. "I was hoping you'd recognize it."

"Please. I'm a champion at both Cheskers and polyominos! Solomon Golomb is one of my heros!" Amy chuckled again and shifted above him, sending a tiny zing through his body. What she starting again? He wasn't thirty-five anymore, but, maybe . . . "Oh, Amy," he said softly.

"What?" she asked, her hips stilled again.

"You didn't . . ." He swallowed.

She shrugged. "It's okay. I think I was concentrating on counting too much."

"No, it's not okay." He pulled himself all the way upright, wrapping his arms around her. "And this wasn't even regular sex, this was supposed to be your event sex."

"Event sex?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. Celebratory sex. Because you received all the funding you need for your study." He brushed those bangs he hated out of her face. "I'm sorry, I should have insisted -"

"Sheldon." She put a hand on his chest. "I have no idea what this so-called event sex is. I was just trying to spice things up, that's all."

"Mission accomplished, little lady. But event sex is when something out of the ordinary happens and -"

"Shhhh." She leaned forward and kissed him softly. "There's nothing ordinary to me about making love to you."

"Well, when you put it that way . . . I agree whole heartedly," Sheldon whispered.

"You know what event I like to celebrate?" Amy whispered back.

"What?"

She leaned close to his ear so that he could feel the words, not just hear them. "You naked in my bed."

"Likewise," he hushed, lowering his face into her neck, kissing her there. "Hang on." Before she could reply, her gripped her firmly and rolled over with her, and her back landed on the mattress with an "Uuummmpph."

He easily slipped out of her and replaced his hips with his hand upon her inner thigh. "Now, Dr. Fowler, you know that we don't leave any events unfinished in this bed." She giggled and then moaned when he made contact. "I was thinking maybe the Juggler sequence. You know, because I'm so dexterous." She giggled again. "Shall I count?"

"Oh, Sheldon . . ." she moaned as his finger started to swirl.

"One." Clockwise. "One." Counterclockwise. "Five." Clockwise. "Two." Counterclockwise. "Eleven." Clockwise. "Two." Counterclockwise. "Eighteen." Clockwise. "Two -"

"Oh, leave the integer out," she demanded.

He tilted his head. For her? Yes. "Very well. Twenty-seven." Counterclockwise. "Thirty-six." Clockwise. "Forty-six." Counterclockwise. "Fifty-eight." Clockwise.

Except he only made it to forty-two.

"Sheldon!" There it was, what he'd been longing to see: the flushed skin, the arch of her neck, the way her thighs squeezed him. He paused, just a beat, to let her catch her breath, before he resumed.

"Again?" Amy gasped out.

"I can't leave it unfinished!" Completion of fifty-eight. Clockwise. "Seventy." Counterclockwise. But he studied Amy, biting her lip, her back arching off the bed, her hands knotted around the sheet beneath her. "How about I just start at fifty-nine?"

Amy exhaled and relaxed slightly, but not all the way. Although even he knew the visible tension was of a different sort. And, because, they excelled here as they did with all things, their timing was impeccable.

"Seventy," he whispered, but no one heard it over Amy's beautiful cry of joy. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, to brush his lips along the planes of her face.

"Better?" he whispered.

"Oh, yeah."

Sheldon smiled and reached above her to rearrange the pillows, before he pulled the covers up and Amy snuggled up next to him, her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her hair. "I love you so much."

Amy smiled into his chest. "We should do math in bed more often."

"Agreed."

She chuckled again and shifted closer to him, and he involuntary twitched when her feet touched him. "How is it possible to engage in so much physical activity and yet your feet remain frigid!"

But he rubbed his own feet against hers, anyway, to warm them. Just another ordinary event.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	108. The Legend of Bagger Vance

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2022**

**Primary Topic: _The Legend of Bagger Vance_ by Steven Pressfield**

* * *

One evening in late September, Amy sat at her computer and sighed.

_No, that won't work._ Amy's eyes darted between her calendar on one side of her screen and the email on the other.  _Maybe the Fall Costume party, so called because the use of the term Halloween could be offensive? Nope, that was out, too._ She had the MRI and its technicians all week and she couldn't spare a moment. Rescheduling would be impossible. _Leaf gathering and pressing field day?_

"Grrrrr," she muttered.

"Troubles?" Sheldon's voice asked from the other side of their partners desk.

"I just can't find anything that I can volunteer for at the preschool this semester! My schedule is just too full with the new phase of the study," she huffed. "And it's already the end of September; I've procrastinated too long."

"So don't volunteer," Sheldon said, only his forehead and hair visible above their computer screens.

"You know that it's strongly encouraged for all parents to volunteer for two units of enrichment activities a semester, Sheldon."

"Strongly encouraged. Not required. For what they're garnishing out of our paychecks, someone from the daycare ought to come volunteer for us."

Amy smiled. "Even so, I can't be the only parent that doesn't volunteer. We'll be scorned. And Ada loves it when I come."

A pop-up opened in the corner of Amy's screen, asking if Sheldon could share her view. She accepted his request.

"Hmmmm," she heard him. "Oh, here! There's a field trip the Monday before Thanksgiving. It's worth four units! You'd fulfill both the fall and the spring semester in a single day. We're not going to Texas this year, so you could do that."

"We're not going to Texas because I need to be in the lab both Monday and Tuesday of that week, remember? Especially if I'm able to obtain the funding." Amy moved her mouse to encircle the spot on her calendar, so that he could see it on his side.

"I'll do it."

Amy wrinkled her brow and rolled her chair to her left so she could look around their computers and see her husband. "Sheldon, be serious."

"What?" he asked, turning to look at her. "I am serious. I'll volunteer for the field trip. I'm one of Ada's parents."

"There are twenty four-year-olds in Ada's class."

"So? They'll be broken down into smaller groups for the field trip, correct? That's why it's worth so many points, because they need more volunteers."

"Sheldon."

"Why do I get the impression you don't think I can do this? I have babysat for Ada and one of the other children before. And all of Leonard's kids!" He crossed his arms.

"Sheldon."

"Okay, so there were less children and they weren't strangers and Leonard was present when all three of his children were, but I am an adult."

"Sheldon."

"In addition, as there are no classes that week, all the professors' children are likely to be absent. And even many of the researchers take the whole week off, like we normally do."

"Sheldon."

"Amy."

"Do you even know what the field trip is? Did you read the details?"

Instead of answering, Sheldon uncrossed his arms and turned back to his screen. "Mini golf? Phllllphhhttt."

"It's a sport. There will be children with long, dangerous metal clubs in their hands. The excitement of a field trip will make them hyper. It sounds like the stuff of your nightmares."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong!" He looked back at her and put his finger in the air. "This is perfect. Mini golf and billiards are the two most physics driven sports! Victory is all up here." He tapped his temple. "If you can determine the correct trajectory, triumph will be yours! Plus, there's no running."

Amy pursed her lips and thought for a moment. Sheldon had made valid points about the likelihood that less children would be present. It was an activity that would release them from volunteering at the preschool for nine months. And it would be a huge help to her, a relief from her own schedule, one less thing to cram into her busy days. Most importantly, perhaps she really was being unfair and unkind to her husband. Sheldon was a wonderful father, and he did try to engage all his adopted nieces and nephews in some sort of activity when they came over to play, albeit with varying degrees of success. Shouldn't she trust him that he could handle this? If she didn't trust him, he'd never prove himself capable. She swallowed and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Mini golf with four-year-olds? Piece of cake!" Amy opened her mouth but then Sheldon said, "And there's two months to practice."

"Okay, then. But please don't make me regret this."

However, it seemed that the only person with regrets about that evening was Amy. Not surprisingly, Sheldon devoted himself to this new enterprise with vigor. A Nerf indoor golf set was immediately ordered, and he rearranged the holes once a week "to keep it fresh and challenging." Of course he was correct about the mathematics, and, when he bent over Ada to help her with her swing, he was usually discussing the geometry of the shot: "Imagine that this is an isosceles right triangle, and you want the ball to travel along the hypotenuse . . ." And even when they babysat another child of their group, indoor mini golf proved to be a fun activity for all. Even Belle, once she arrived, would sit perched on the back of the sofa or the corner of the desk and watch the moving ball intently, after a few initial scoldings for chasing the ball.

Most surprising, though, was how much Amy enjoyed it. At first, she had thought that the new golf set was just another activity for Ada and Sheldon to enjoy together while she was busy with chores or reading. But she was quickly cajoled into one game and later that week another, and before long she would join them more times than she did not. While Sheldon concentrated on the mathematics, Amy used their games for the opportunity to extol the merits of good sportsmanship and just having fun to Ada.

The first sign that perhaps it had gotten out of hand, and that perhaps there would be regrets just as she initially feared, was the first of November. Amy had chuckled at Sheldon's Book Club selection, but when the Land's End box arrived in his name, she knew something was amiss.

"Oh, goody! Ada! Our golf clothes have arrived!" he yelled, grabbing the box from Amy's outstretched arms.

"Golf clothes?"

"To be precise," Sheldon explained, opening the box on the dining table, "golf-inspired clothes. You should see the prices on actual golf clothes! And, no matter where I looked, I just couldn't find any matching knickerbockers in both our sizes. But I believe I found us the next best thing."

He proudly lifted out two matching polo shirts in yellow and kelly green argyle and held them up in front of him. "One for me, one for Ada. There's matching Bermuda shorts and argyle knee socks, too!"

Ignoring the excited noises from Ada as she tore into the packages of her new clothes, Amy wrinkled her brow and said, "Shorts? Argyle? Sheldon, you don't need costumes for a field trip. And you hate shorts."

"They're not costumes. It's sporting attire," Ada said, holding up her new knee socks and looking at them with unabashed love. Looking at her quizzically, Amy realized she didn't even know how to process what her daughter just said. Was she just repeating Sheldon? Or was she actually developing an attitude? She shook her head and decided to ignore it.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, kid," Sheldon said, pulling out of the box what appeared to be, alarmingly, a flat cap.

"I think this has gotten out of control," Amy said, crossing her arms. "You're already taking this too seriously and being too competitive. It's only a preschool enrichment field trip, Sheldon, not the Masters Tournament!"

He finally looked up at her. "What's the Masters Tournament?"

Shaking her head once more, Amy decided to let it pass. Maybe the fact that he hadn't taken up watching golf, that he still didn't know what the Masters Tournament was, was a good sign. When he helped Ada put her new hat on, and Amy heard her daughter laugh at their images in Sheldon's phone as he prepared to take a selfie of them, she put it out of her mind. It was just a field trip and some new clothes. It would all be fine.

Having started her second study, Amy was too engrossed in work to give it much thought during the days. She had decided, long ago, that her evenings and weekends were scared hours with her husband and child, and it was the rare work activity that she would allow to take her away from them. No matter that this new study was proving very promising, building upon her previous finding, sealing her place in the world of neurobiology, she only devoted her workdays to it. But she devoted herself fully during that time and did not allow thoughts about mini golf and flat caps to cross her mind in her lab.

So, when the day of the field trip came, after laughing at them in their matching outfits and taking several photos, Amy dropped them off at the preschool and set off for her lab, only her work on her mind. She had felt guilty, asking Sheldon if they could not go to Texas for Thanksgiving this year as she needed the extra time at work. But with the building mostly empty and all her lab assistants gone for vacation, she found it was easier to concentrate without distractions.

It was the buzz of her watch that brought her out of her haze. She smiled as she answered, assuming Sheldon was calling to tell her about some great shot Ada had just made or brag over her score or otherwise discuss the brilliance of his little girl.

Amy noticed that he wasn't wearing his flat cap anymore and that that his hair looked strangely disheveled, but perhaps the wind had picked up since she'd been inside. "Hi, Sheldon! How are you and Jack Nicklaus fairing on the green today?"

"I'm calling to let you know we've returned to campus, so Ada and I are taking the car home. Call when you're almost finished and we'll come get you," he said flatly.

"Back on campus?" Amy wrinkled her brow. "But it's -" she glanced up at the clock - "only noon. I thought this was supposed to be an all day field trip." She stopped and studied his little face in her watch screen closer. Was his hair wet? "Did it start raining?"

"No." He licked his lips. "Um . . . Ada and I are back early."

Her heart pounding, Amy sat up straighter in her chair. "Is Ada sick? Should I come?"

"No, she's well. Continue your work -"

"I'm coming," she said sharply and ended the call. Something was not right; Sheldon was being evasive. Rapidly putting things away, glad she was mostly working on paperwork and not anything organic that had more precise storage steps, Amy gathered her belongings and rushed out of her building toward the faculty preschool.

Sheldon and Ada were sitting on a bench outside. Ada looked fine, if bored, but Sheldon was a mess. Once she approached, she could determine that not only had his hair been wet at some point but there was mud in it, and there was mud covering half of his new shirt. And his hat, the one he'd been so proud of, was being crumbled and uncrumbled in his hands, and drips of water were falling on the concrete beneath it.

"Amy, really, you shouldn't have come, we're -"

"What happened to you? Are you okay? Are you injured?" she asked, even as she bent down to hug Ada and inspect her for any physical damage.

"Dad got in trouble and got kicked out," Ada said.

"What?" Amy turned to look at him.

"Ada," Sheldon said sharply, turning this head. "I told you that your mother is too busy with work to be worrying about -"

"Sheldon Lee Cooper, what happened?" Amy stood and demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

"There was just a scoring disagreement. And some of the children could have used better form. Or stayed in line. Or taken turns."

"Sheldon!" Amy shut her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. "But how did you get so dirty?"

"He fell in the water and everyone laughed," Ada volunteered. "And then Dad -"

"We were all supposed to stay in our assigned groups," Sheldon interrupted her, "but Owen insisted on running away repeatedly -"

"He has ADHD," Amy said.

"I know that! You told me five times and I remember after the first!" He paused and too a deep breath. "Anyway, as a I was saying, when I tried to explain the importance of staying together as a group, he took my hat and threw it in the pond at hole number seven!"

"That's when Dad fell in," Ada said.

"Okay," Amy crossed her arms. "I still don't understand what happened. Yes, Owen behaved badly and the children were being hyper and you fell into the pond, but why did you get kicked out for that? Or was it just that you wanted to come home and take a shower?"

"I may have . . . said some inappropriate things when I emerged from the pond. But, yes, I am, in fact, desperate for a shower. It was nothing but mud and slime!"

"Dad called Owen a -"

"Never mind, Ada," Amy said. "Your father and I can discuss this later. Do you have all your things?"

"Yes," Ada pouted at not being able to finish her story.

"Come on, then let's go."

"But, Amy, your work!" Sheldon protested, although he stood.

"It's lunch time. I'll take you home," she said. "I'll make a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it."

Her husband nodded and hung his head as he followed her to the car.

* * *

Having left her lunch at work and too confused and deflated to really care, Amy just went through a drive through. Once Ada was happily settled in place at the dining table, eating her chicken nuggets and cup of orange slices, Amy took the mug of tea with her to the bathroom, where she could still hear Sheldon in the shower.

She waited in the warmth and steam, leaning against the counter, watching her handsome husband clean himself. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed the show, but now she was just anxious for him to finish. If he noticed she was there, he didn't say anything. Finally, he turned the shower off and opened the glass door.

Amy held out his towel to him. "I think you'd better start talking."

He sighed as he took the towel. "Can't I at least put some clothes on first?"

"No."

Another sigh as he lifted the towel to rub his hair. "They are awful, Amy, completely uncouth and rowdy, as though they'd been raised by wolves. They were so loud and they wouldn't pay attention or stay together as a group or take turns. One child would be putting and another would just step across the green and ruin the shot!"

Taking a drink of tea - it was for her, not Sheldon - she resisted the urge to say she'd told him so. Instead, she said, "They're children. Four-year-olds. They were excited and hyper about the field trip." She took a deep breath. "So I take it that Owen somehow stole your hat -

"While I was bent over to help Ada with her shot."

"- and threw it into a pond with less than crystal clear water. You fell into the pond while trying to retrieve it. That's how you and your clothes got so dirty. Correct?"

"Yes," Sheldon said, bending over to run the towels down his legs now.

"Those events, while frustrating and, yes, poor behavior on Owen's part, were not, I gather, the end of the situation?"

"No," Sheldon pouted, stretching the towel out behind him to shake his bottom in the adorable little way he had. Amy looked away to keep from being swayed.

She waited. And waited some more, taking another drink of tea.

"Fine," Sheldon finally related to the silence, wrapping the towel around his slim waist. "Once I emerged from the pond looking more like the Swamp Thing than a human being, I may have . . . called Owen an imbecile," he finished in a mumble.

"Okay." Amy nodded, after silently counting to five. "So they kicked you out for calling Owen a name? I'm not condoning your behavior or word choice -  _at all_ \- but that seems a bit of an overkill for a single word."

"Well, it was more than that," he whispered.

"Oh." Amy raised her eyebrows. "Go on."

"I - I called him an imbecile who would never function in society just as all the varmints in his class wouldn't either because their parents were all geologists and others with lesser minds who hadn't taught them any manners, basic mathematical skills, or even the simple notion of trajectory."

Amy swallowed and took another deep breath, before replying slowly, her thoughts sorting, "Okay, well -"

"I may have also told Owen that he was just as hyper as Wile E. Coyote and someday he was going to be smashed with anvil. There may have been some yelling involved."

Amy reached up to rub her eyes behind her glasses. This really was terrible. She was going to have write an apology to Owen's mothers, maybe even break out the monogramed stationary Mother had bought her.

"I see." Amy took another drink. Then she frowned. No, this was not her fault. And not her problem. She turned and sat the mug down on the bathroom counter with a loud noise. "You know what, I don't have time for this. Get dressed so you can watch Ada the rest of the day."

She marched out of the bathroom, leaving the dirty mug behind for Sheldon to deal with, only stopping to say good-bye to Ada before she went back to work, more disappointed in Sheldon than she had been in a very long time.

* * *

On Wednesday evening, having waited two days for Sheldon to bring up Book Club, to tell Amy he didn't want to have Book Club this month, Amy decided to broach the subject herself, even though it wasn't the last day of the month. He had been moping around for two days, quiet for him, denying Ada's requests to play the indoor golf game with her, and his obvious guilt had softened Amy some. She still did not believe she was the one who should take any steps to rectify this situation, but Sheldon was so pitiful she felt remorse for the way she had just walked out on him, without any advice or understanding. She had just left him alone to wallow in his shame instead of trying to help him find a way out of it. And leaving behind the dirty cup had been petty and childish on her part. Yes, the sooner this Book Club was over and done with the better.

"Sheldon?" she said softly that Wednesday evening, sitting on the sofa next to him, having put Ada to bed, the smell of the pecans pies she was making for Thanksgiving at Raj and Stuart's filling the great room. "I'm curious. Am I correct that you've already finished this month's Book Club selection? That perhaps you finished it before the field trip on Monday?"

He nodded and sighed, looking away from her.

"I know it's not the last day of the month, but I thought perhaps it would ease your mind if I let you know now that I am not expecting a Book Club this month given the . . . events of this week. You clearly choose  _The Legend of Bagger Vance_  because it's a golf-related book, and the mini golf has passed." Sheldon opened his mouth and Amy put her hand up. "But I know how much you need closure. So, how about I tell you what I thought of the book right now, just a brief exposition, and you can just nod or shake your head, and we'll call it Book Club?"

Sheldon tilted his head. "Maybe. Go on."

"It was okay. I didn't dislike it, but I really didn't like it, either. Of course, all of the golf terminology and descriptions were lost on me, but I anticipated that. I understand the character of Bagger Vance was meant to be inspirational, that it was meant to be a sort of explanative allegory that each person should strive to find their essential, true self, the best possible version of themselves; and, that only when that is obtained, can the meaning of life be gained. But I thought it was all a bit heavy handed. You know I don't like to be repeatedly and forcefully fed a moral message as though I don't have the intelligence to figure it out on my own." She leaned back in the sofa and waited for either Sheldon's agreement or disagreement, and then they could put this whole mini golf debacle behind them for good.

After a pause, Sheldon nodded. Amy smiled at him and then started to get up.

"What do you think that weird ancient war meant?"

Raising her eyebrows, Amy sat back down. "I'm not sure, honestly. It seemed incongruent to me. Maybe that all wars are really the same, that history and mankind are doomed to repeat themselves without reason."

"I understood the rest. As you pointed out, it's impossible not to since the author spares no opportunity to pound it into our brains. The moral is that all challenges are really within our minds, within ourselves. We have to believe in our power to succeed in order to succeed. Mind over matter."

Amy smiled. "Yes, I think that's the primary moral, too. There are others, of course." She paused. "Do you want to discuss them?"

Sheldon tilted his head again. "Isn't that what we do during Book Club?"

"Okay." Amy nodded. "I also think there is a pretty strong message here that it's not about winning or losing, that Junah shouldn't worry about that. Rather, he should just work on being as good as he could be. That he should find his true, authentic self and remain loyal to that, even if that meant he would lose."

"Integrity." Sheldon nodded. "Yes, definitely. Being true to one's self and one's morals. Like when Junah admits that the ball moved and he has to take a penalty, even though no one else saw it."

"There's also an element of pride goeth before a fall," Amy said softly. Then, to lighten the mood, she added, "This book really was an endless list of old adages, wasn't it?"

He smiled, which Amy took that a good sign, and he said, "Yes, it was. I presume you're referring to when Junah started to make excellent shots and then failed miserably because he became too cocky?"

"Yes. The first time, it's because he loses touch with himself, but then the second time, he makes the exact same mistake because he's being prideful, he wants to prove that the same decisions will lead to a better outcome this time. But they don't, of course."

She waited for Sheldon to reply, but he never did, looking away from her again, out into the middle distance. Finally, Amy reached for his hand and whispered, "Sheldon?"

"I'm sure you immediately grasped why I selected this book," he said, not turning to look at her. "I thought it would instill me with all the secrets of golf so that Ada and I could have the best possible scores at mini golf."

"I know," Amy said softly. "But unless you were studying golf much more than me - which wouldn't surprise me - all of the technical details in here were just confusing. It's obviously written by a golfer for other golfers, I think."

"I know you think I'm angry about the field trip," Sheldon said. "But I also know you think I behaved appallingly, that you don't feel sorry for me, because this is natural punishment for my behavior."

"Sheldon, I -" Amy started, although she didn't really know where she was going to finish, as she was not going to lie to him.

"You're correct." He turned to look at her. "You were right all along. I put too much emphasis on winning when it was really just for fun. I was over confident in my abilities. Apparently, it's a very good thing we decided to only have one child, because I'm completely hopeless with more than that."

"That's not true." Amy turned closer to him and squeezed his hand. "You're a wonderful father. And I'm confident you would have been so even if we had more children. You're good when the other kids come over to play."

Sheldon grunted.

"However," Amy said, "I do think your competitive nature can be too overwhelming at times, especially when it comes to children. Ada is used to it, she can take it. Plus -" Amy smiled softly "- I sometimes think she gets her own competitive streak from you. But part of being an adult is instilling the importance of good sportsmanship in your children or those children under your care. How to be a graceful loser. And being a good sportsman yourself. Sometimes, and I do understand this is hard for you, you need to check your ego at the door. You need to teach Ada, that, too."

"See, you are angry with me." Sheldon pulled his hand away and lowered his face into it.

"Not angry. Disappointed, yes. And you're correct that I don't feel sorry for you. You made this bed, and you either have to lie in it or remake correctly."

"How can I do that?" Sheldon asked, lifting his face out of his hands, his eyebrows high. "I doubt I'll be allowed on anymore field trips."

"I don't know. Maybe you need to search your authentic self to find the answer." Amy bit her lip. "Here -" she reached for her Kindle. "I did mark two sections." She located the first. "'Junah let out a breath, frustrated. "Please don't confuse me again, Bagger. I thought you wanted me to  _win_." "I couldn't care less about winning," the mysterious fellow answered. "I care about  _you_."' And this one -" her fingers ghosted over the screen "- '"I stand by your side always. I will never abandon you. No sin, no lapse, no crime however heinous can me desert you, nor yield up to you any less than my ultimate fidelity and love.  
W _ho walked his path beside me  
_ _F_ _eels my hand upon him always.  
_ _No effort he makes is wasted,  
_ _Nor unseen, unguided by me._ "'"

Then she shut the cover of her book, leaned over, kissed Sheldon tenderly on the forehead, and whispered, "I love you. The answer is already within you."

* * *

Amy studied the tiles of the backsplash, seeking to find the answer there. Her quest was interrupted by the sound of Sheldon and Ada coming down the hallway. Well, she wasn't likely to find the solution to her current predicament in the grout, anyway. She shook her head, turned, and smiled.

"Good morning, you two! Who's ready for cereal day?"

"I am!" Ada cheered as she climbed up into her chair at the table. Amy lifted the milk she'd been holding pointlessly when Sheldon came up close.

"Are you alright? You're up early," he whispered.

"I'm . . . as well as can be expected. I just don't know what to do about this situation with Bernadette," she admitted. "I couldn't sleep, thinking about it."

Sheldon brushed his hand along her hair. "You'll figure it out. You're the wisest person I know."

Smiling sadly, Amy went to join him and Ada at the table, choosing cereals and pouring milk and discussing the day's plans, which included getting the Christmas tree out of the storage space downstairs and putting it up. Then Sheldon said, "Ada, I have something very important to say to you, and I want you to listen to me closely."

Amy looked over at him sharply. His eyes darted to hers, but he otherwise didn't reply to her unspoken question.

"Okay," Ada said, in her most serious voice.

Leaning close to his daughter's chair, Sheldon rested his hand on the back of it. "I owe you an apology. I behaved very poorly on your field trip earlier this week, and I'm very sorry that my inappropriate actions both ruined your day and did not embody the virtues of fair play and kindness that your mother and I always try to encourage you to display. I set a very bad example for you and your classmates, and I do not wish for you to ever follow my lead and behave that way. Do you understand me? Will you forgive me for ruining your day and cutting your field trip short?"

Ada nodded and Amy smiled.

"Good. Of course, I also need to apologize to your teacher and to Owen and to others, but I can do that when school resumes." Sheldon sat back up. "And how about we go play mini golf again this weekend? I thought we could invite Jacob and Fenny and even Lucy might be old enough to play."

Her eyebrows shooting upwards, Amy opened her mouth but didn't speak.

"Oh, can we?" Ada bounced slightly in her chair. "And can I wear my sporting attire?"

"Of course. But, listen, Ada, we're going to play differently than we did last time. You and I have played at a real course now, but the others may not have. So we're going to be helpful and kind, and no one is going to raise their voice. And we're not going to keep score, we're just playing for fun and to learn something new."

"But -"

Even Amy's brows fell. Poor Sheldon, he really was contrite if he wasn't going to keep score.

"No buts. It's not whether you win or lose, Ada, it's how you play the game. Good sportsmanship is more important than the score," he said firmly. Then he turned to look at Amy. "The wisest person I know taught me that lesson."

Amy smiled at him and nodded her head. He had found the solution he sought, and she couldn't be more pleased. Now, if only she could find a solution -

"Are you coming, Mom?" Ada asked. "It's so much fun!"

"Oh. I don't know, I hadn't considered it," she confessed, turning to her daughter.

"Maybe, Ada, since Jacob and Lucy will be with us, your mother might like to spend some time with Aunt Bernadette. I'm sure they have things to talk about," Sheldon said.

Her head snapped back toward Sheldon, his blue eyes almost blinding her with their intensity behind his glasses. Of course that was the solution. She'd known it all night and all morning, although she hadn't been ready to swallow her pride and admit it yet.

"Yes," she nodded. "Bernadette and I have things to discuss."

"Just remember," Sheldon said softly, "don't apologize for being your authentic self."

Amy nodded again.

"What's your authentic self?" Ada asked.

"That is an excellent question!" Sheldon turned back toward their daughter. "Your authentic self is . . . "


	109. The Argument

**The Argument**

* * *

_"Maybe, Ada, since Jacob and Lucy will be with us, your mother might like to spend some time with Aunt Bernadette. I'm sure they have things to talk about," Sheldon said._

_Her head snapped back toward Sheldon, his blue eyes almost blinding her with their intensity behind his glasses. Of course that was the solution. She'd known it all night and all morning, although she hadn't been ready to swallow her pride and admit it yet._

_"Yes," she nodded. "Bernadette and I have things to discuss."_

_"Just remember," Sheldon said softly, "don't apologize for being your authentic self."_

* * *

"Isn't Bernadette coming up?" Penny asked, shutting the door behind her.

"She said she would. But she had to do something first, something about Lucy, I didn't catch it all. She was mumbling." Amy shrugged and walked toward her kitchen, opening the pantry door and ducking in for a bottle of wine, just after she glanced over to spot Belle sunbathing in her Eames chair, an new alarmed look on her face at the arrival of humans.

"Red or white?" she called.

"Oh. Neither. I'll just have water. Too full from all that turkey," Penny's voice said.

Grabbing a bottle of red wine anyway, Amy came out and saw Penny across the room inspecting the whiteboards, where rows of words like pilgrim and Mayflower and cornucopia were written in cursive. "Is Sheldon working on his knees now?" she asked.

"No, that's Ada's. It's her spelling words this week. And she's learning cursive," Amy said, unscrewing the wine, then bending down to run her hand along Belle's back as the cat wove around her ankles. "No, it's not dinner time," she cooed.

"God, she's so smart," Penny said, coming back across the room. "Fenny just mastered writing his full name correctly."

Amy blushed with pride and nodded. These conversations always made her feel both a little awkward and very blessed. "I never thought I'd say this, but Mother has been a Godsend to us. That's her doing, working with Ada on spelling and handwriting and all sorts of things. Ada's right on schedule to start second grade next fall. Did I tell you that she was conditionally accepted to the Washington Elementary STEM GATE-program? They'll be some tests in the spring to confirm our registration, but -"

The door flow open, interrupting her and sending Belle scurrying away toward the bedrooms. "Okay, I'm here." Bernadette rushed in. "Jesus, you'd think Howard was dying from the way he acted when I told him the girls were coming up here. There are four grown men down there to watch the kids!" She glanced over at Penny. "Leonard didn't give you any grief, even about little Fox?"

Penny shook her head. "They talked about all going to the park to fly kites. He might bring him up here if they do."

"Aren't you worried?" Bernadette asked, sitting on a stool at the island next to Amy.

"Uh, no. Leonard can handle the kids," Penny shrugged from where she was standing, leaning against the sink, having filled her own glass of water.

"Oh, good! Wine! Fill me up!" Bernadette instructed and Amy complied.

"What should we toast to?" Amy asked.

"Oh, I have some good news!" Bernadette cheered. "Finally - after two years - we got word that Jacob was conditionally accepted to Washington STEM next year! Jesus, that place is like Fort Knox. It was harder to get in there then it is to win a MacArthur Genius Grant!"

Amy's eyes met Penny's as they both quickly took a drink from their respective glasses, neither of them speaking.

"Hey, what's going on?" Bernadette demanded.

"It's just - um - Ada is going to Washington STEM next year, too. I mean, most likely. It's not confirmed yet," Amy rushed, and then smiled toward Bernadette. "Ada will be so excited that Jacob will in the same school and the same grade! And how many kids are in the GATE program, will they even be in the same class?"

"Seriously?" Bernadette looked over her glass of wine.

Wrinkling her brow, Amy started, "Yes. I don't -"

"Amy's right, Bernie. This is a good thing. Jacob won't have to transfer to a new school without knowing anyone there," Penny interrupted.

Bernadette downed her glass of wine. "Sure."

There was a lull as Bernadette poured more wine, and Amy looked at Penny once more.

"So, Ames, how's the study going?" Penny asked.

"It's going quite well, thank you. I'm really excited, I definitely think I'm on to something new. It's been a little hectic, but I think we're getting our schedule under control," Amy said.

"Oh, like Sheldon going on a field trip?" Bernadette asked.

Amy swallowed hard and fought the creeping feeling in her stomach. "Well, yes, that was very helpful to me."

"Field trip?" Penny asked.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" Bernadette asked, turning toward her. "Sheldon chaperoned a field trip for the preschool and got kicked out."

"What?" Penny asked, her eyes getting big. "Leonard didn't say anything about it!"

"He may not know," Bernadette said. "Howie only heard when he picked up Lucy from daycare. Sheldon hasn't said boo to him."

"What happened, Ames?" Penny asked.

Looking down at her wine, swooshing it in her glass, Amy said, "Well, you know, he just got over whelmed, I think, and things got a little out of control. It's always harder watching someone else's children than your own."

" _A little_  out of control? I heard it was more than that!" Bernadette said.

Amy looked up and narrowed her eyes. She knew Sheldon's faults better than anyone else, but she certainly wasn't going let someone talk smack about her husband. "Listen, he got too competitive with four year olds, yes. But no one was injured or in danger and no crimes were committed. And he feels bad enough the way it is. Let's just drop it."

"Oh, I -" Bernadette said.

"Drop. It," Amy growled.

"Hey, you know what?" Penny cheered. "We should all go out for mani-pedi's. We haven't done that in months!"

"Yeah," Amy smiled at her, grateful she'd changed the subject, "we should."

"You'll probably have to go without me. I'm chained to the house," Bernadette whined.

"What does that mean?" Amy asked.

"It means that Howard Wolowitz would have to get off his ass and act like a man with the kids for once," she replied as she filled her glass again.

Amy winced at Bernadette's tone. How much had she had to drink? "Come on, Bernadette, Howard will always watch the kids, you know that."

"Yeah, watch them run wild and get into trouble and break all the rules. By the time I get home it's chaos: they're dirty and the house is a wreck and toys and games are everywhere and no one has cleaned up or made them follow the rules and I have to demand things get put away that should have been put away in the first place and then the kids cry and Howard says I'm being too hard on them, and, honestly, it's more hassle than it's worth," Bernadette said.

"Oh. I'm sure it's not like that," Amy said. "They're just children. They need to play. And Howard is great at playing with them -"

"You don't get to have an opinion about this because you only have one child. That's just having a pet that talks," Bernadette shot back.

Gasping as she heard Penny say "Bernadette!", Amy finally managed to get out, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means there's a world of difference between one child and any more. You simply cannot comprehend the struggles of any mother with two or more children. Right, Penny?" Bernadette looked up at their blonde friend.

"Uh . . . uh . . . uh. Well, sure, more kids are harder," Penny mumbled, turning around to fill her glass at the sink again.

"Ugh." Bernadette rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I expect you to understand, either. You have a nanny!"

"Hey!" Penny turned around. "Yes, we have a baby-sitter than comes to the house. But it's not like she lives there. We're home alone with them in the evening and the weekends. We're a normal family. And it's only because Leonard did the math and it's actually cheaper that way than having to pay to put four kids in daycare."

"Four!" Amy lowered her wine glass with a furrowed brow and looked seriously at her friend, who'd blushed and looked away. She didn't want wine . . . She hadn't had any wine with the Thanksgiving feast at Raj and Stuart's . . . Actually, when we the last time Amy had seen her drinking wine? . . . She was wearing a tunic . . .

"Penny Hofstadter! Why didn't you tell us?" Amy yelled, setting her glass on the island.

"What?" Penny looked up. Amy just pointed to her midsection. Penny's hand went up on reflex, and, as her shirt came closer to her body, it confirmed Amy's suspicions. "Okay, you got me. I'm pregnant!"

"Jesus, Penny. You do know what causes that, don't you?" Bernadette asked.

"See, this is exactly why I didn't tell you! I knew you'd be all judgmental!" Penny huffed.

"We're not being judgmental. If this is what you wanted, I'm very happy for you," Amy protested. "We're merely expressing concern over a geriatric pregnancy -"

"I'm thirty-eight, not dead," Penny interrupted. "You were thirty-seven when you had Ada. You two just always forget I'm younger than you."

Amy nodded. "You're right." She put her wine glass up. "Let's toast to that then. To Baby Hofstadter Number Four!"

Penny smile and stepped over to clink her glass with Amy and Bernadette. "Thanks, guys. But this really is the last one. We talked about it, Leonard's going to get the snip-snip. Four kids is a lot. We're out of bedrooms!"

"Not when you have a nanny," Bernadette mumbled.

"Again, we do not have a nanny!" Penny said loudly.

Shooting Bernadette her own dirty look, Amy turned back to Penny. "When are you due?"

"April 29th. We were going to wait until it was obvious to tell everyone this time. See, we are aware of the risks," Penny said.

"Any names yet or are you doing to surprise us again?" Bernadette asked.

Relieved, Amy turned and smiled at her. Maybe her bad mood was passing. That was a perfectly normal question.

"Okay," Penny leaned against the counter across from them, "I might need your help. I really, really want Fawn if it's a girl. And I really want a girl, to even things up and to wear pink all the time. Frannie is turning into a tomboy, I think. But Leonard doesn't like it. He wants Fiona."

"Fawn?" Bernadette raised her eyebrows.

"Sure. It's so light and happy and airy. Fawns are cute and soft and they have those big eyes. It's adorable," Penny said, standing up again. "But this is a secret. Don't tell Leonard I told you. He loves that moment of announcing the name."

"Just please let me there when he tells Sheldon," Amy said.

Penny gave her a confused look, but Amy just smirked back. Then she continued, "Anyway, see, this is a great Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for the new baby, Bernadette is thankful that Jacob made it into the magnet school, Amy is thankful for her new study -"

"And that Ada also made it into the magnet school at age four -" Bernadette said.

"Exactly! So -" Penny tried to continue.

"And that Ada is a genius and that her grandmother watches her for free one day a week and that Sheldon agrees to watch her child for two whole weeks while she's in Denmark," Bernadette continued.

"What's going on, Bernadette?" Amy asked, turning on her stool. "You seem a little on edge."

"Oh, am I? I'm sorry," Bernadette reached for the bottle of wine. "I didn't mean to interrupt your perfect life with my mundane problems."

"What problems?" Amy asked, putting her hand out to touch her arm.

"Amy . . . " Penny muttered.

"What problems?" Bernadette pulled away from her. "You know what, I'm sick of how perfect you always make everything out to be! We all know the truth. Ada already thinks she's all that and a bag of chips and we all know Sheldon got kicked out of the field trip because he can't control himself! You can stop telling everyone he's perfect, Amy, we all know the only reason he seems like such a good father is because he's so immature himself, just like all our husbands. It's only because he's got a captive playmate now, but get him out in the real world with other children and we can all see what a narcissist he is!"

"Bernadette!" Amy yelled. "If you're angry with me about something, that's one thing, but I will not let you insult my husband or my daughter -"

"Ugh, I'm not taking this!" Bernadette stood and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Incredulous, Amy turned on her stool and put her forehead on her palm, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Oh, sweetie." Penny fluttered around the island, sitting on the stool Bernadette had just abandoned and put her hand on Amy's back.

"What was that?" Amy croaked out, her lungs and eyes burning with the approach of tears.

"Don't let her get to you. She's just going through a lot right now and she'd had too much to drink and she's not thinking clearly and -"

"What is she going through?" Amy raised her head. "She hasn't said anything to me. If there's something wrong, maybe I could help, give her some advice. But instead . . . why did she say those things?" Amy swallowed, feeling the tears in her eyes, pleading with Penny to explain it all away as some sort of simple misunderstanding.

"Listen, things are really bad with her and Howard right now. Um, I don't know if I should tell you this, but it's bad enough the D word has come up," Penny said, looking down.

"Divorce?" Amy gasped, the shock stilling her tears for a moment. Penny nodded. "Why hasn't she said anything to me? And what can be that bad? He's the man she vowed to spend the rest of her life with, he's the father of her children -"

"Sweetie." Penny took her hand. "That's why she hasn't said anything to you. Because she thinks you wouldn't understand, that you'd say things like that."

"What?"

"She didn't say this to me, but I think you and I both know that she's not the most maternal person in the world. Having two kids is really difficult for her. Plus she doesn't feel like Howard helps, that he never backs her up when she disciplines them, and then they fight because he thinks she's too strict, that she yells too much. And -" Penny took a deep breath "- he said some awful things last week, that he thinks Jacob's shyness and fidgeting are because he's frightened of her -"

"But she's never hurt him! That's ridiculous! It's just that he's a Wolowitz."

" - and Lucy's wildness is all because she's being defiant -"

"She's three, of course she's being defiant!"

"So now Bernadette thinks everyone would be happier if she wasn't there, if she left -"

"But they're her children!" Amy screamed. "You don't get to opt out of that!"

"I agree, I agree," Penny said, squeezing her hand. "Don't get mad at me. I'm just explaining to you what Bernie's going through."

"And that makes it okay for her to say horrible things about my family?"

"No, of course not. But . . . " Penny shrugged.

"But what?" Amy demanded.

"Things are going really good for you right now. Your job, Ada, even Sheldon is like the world's greatest dad - no one saw that coming - and it's really hard for her to see all good things at your house when she doesn't feel like there's any at hers."

"But we're not perfect. This study is stressful to me. And like the field trip this week, Sheldon really was horrible and . . . and . . ." Amy trailed off as the first tear fell.

Penny leaned forward. "I know things aren't perfect. They're not perfect at my house, either. But sometimes, it really does seem like you got everything you ever wanted. And sometimes the three of you . . . oh, sweetie, I love you all, but sometimes you're all a bit too proud of your accomplishments, you know?"

"So you hate us, too?" Amy wailed.

"No, no, that's not what I said. Listen, I've messed this up. I love you. And Sheldon and Ada. And Leonard loves you, too. And, believe it or not, so does Bernadette. It's just hard to talk to you sometimes, because everything is so good and you always have opinions and . . ." Penny took a deep breath. "Just give her time to calm down and then go talk to her. No, offer to listen. She just wants to feel like someone understands her and cares."

"I do care," Amy protested. "But I don't understand how she could seriously be considering leaving her children. I can't pretend that I do. And won't let her insult me or the people I love."

"Maybe the divorce thing isn't real. Maybe it was just said in anger. Because people say things all the time they don't mean when they're angry. Like all the stuff she said about Sheldon. Don't take it seriously," Penny offered.

"How can I not?" Amy asked. "When you just calmly backed her up?"

"I didn't back her up!" Penny protested. She growled. "I hate this, too. I don't think Bernadette should divorce Howard, either, but it's not my decision. And I especially don't want for all of us to be fighting, we should support each other. I'm just saying we should all be careful about what we say."

"I think you need to leave," Amy said softly.

"Oh, Ames, don't be mad at me, too. I'm not backing Bernadette up! I'm just -"

"Please, just go. Before we both say something else we might regret."

Penny nodded and squeezed her hand. "Call me, okay?"

Waiting until the door was shut, Amy ran to the bedroom and threw herself on her pillow and sobbed, ignoring the surprised meow from Belle. What had happened to her best friends? How long had they hated her this much? It wasn't her fault that a few good things in her life had aligned all at once. And not everything was perfect. Ada was still a temperamental child at times, like all young children. Sheldon still hadn't had his big career break through, and, although, he never complained, she knew it weighed on him and -

"Amy?" he said softly.

She jerked in surprised and turned her head slightly. "I - didn't - hear- you - come - in," she sobbed.

Sheldon crawled over the bed and rubbed her hair. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not sure what happened but Penny came downstairs crying and told me I needed to come up. What's wrong?"

"Ada?"

"Raj and Stuart are taking her out fly kites. Amy, what happened? Bernadette came downstairs yelling at Howard they had to leave and then Penny was crying and now you're crying and to think you said Thanksgiving here would probably be less dramatic -"

"They - hate - us!"

"What?"

Rolling angrily on her pillow, Amy looked up at him. His brow was deeply furrowed. "They all hate us. They think we're perfect and that we're stuck up about how perfect we are and that they can't talk to us like real people."

"Who? I don't understand."

Amy sat up. "All of them, but especially Bernadette. Apparently she and Howard are having problems, but somehow it's my fault because I think my family is perfect."

"That doesn't make any sense." She would not have thought it possible, but Sheldon's brow furrowed more. "Start at the beginning."

After a deep, shaky breath, Amy managed to get out most of the story as she remembered it. Sheldon raise this eyebrows at the mention of Penny's pregnancy and he, too, yelled out, "Divorce!" but he mostly remained silent. When she finished, the talking having quieted her tears, Sheldon was looking down at his lap.

"Sheldon, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have have told you want she said about you, that was cruel -"

"No, it's okay." Sheldon shook his head and looked up. "I'm actually used to it, with all of Howard's jokes and such. I've known him a long time. All of the guys used to take mean shots at me. They're much better behaved now."

"Oh." Amy shuffled her way closer to him and took his hand.

"Really, it's fine. What upsets me is that you had to endure all that, that Bernadette put you through that." Belle bumped against his palm, and he looked down to rub the top of her head. "I also feel . . . guilty," he quietly intoned, not looking up.

"Guilty?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

Sheldon sighed. "I knew about the big fight. Not about divorce, but Howard told us about the fight. However, I promised him I wouldn't say a word. I thought that included you, but now I regret not telling you, so you would have known the whole situation."

"Oh." Amy paused and thought. "That's tricky, I think. Does promising Howard - or anyone else - that you won't say something mean that you can't tell your spouse?" She sighed softly. "I don't know. So you have nothing to feel guilty about, it's a murky moral situation. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because apparently everything I say is wrong regardless."

"No, Amy, nothing you say is wrong, I'm certain of it!" Sheldon protested. "You are not responsible for the Wolowitzs' martial troubles. Or Bernadette's generally foul attitude."

"But . . . even Penny said we're too proud of our accomplishments," she whispered.

"That's because Penny hasn't discovered a previously unknown neurotransmitter. Or skipped two grades in school. Her accomplishments are acting in a low-budget Syfy series and a permanently occupied uterus."

"Sheldon, that's not helpful." Amy shook her head. "Plus, I'm worried that's exactly the sort of things she was talking about."

"So maybe we should keep the last sentence between you and me. But the first two are correct. Amy -" he reached up for her face, running his fingers along the edge of her cheek "- you are brilliant. I know your work isn't done yet, that you're still proving your theory, but you and I both know all signs indicate you're on the verge of a major discovery. You should be proud of that, you should never apologize for that. What is it that you are always telling Ada? 'Be modest about your body but never about your mind.'"

"But what if they really do hate us and decide they'll never speak to us again?"

"Almost twenty years of experience has taught me that our friends will not abandon us for our greatness. Despite all the times they've been unreasonable over the years, they always flocked back to my apartment, then our home. They can't resist us. We're irresistible." Sheldon grinned.

In spite of herself, Amy felt her lips turning up. Then she shook her head. "No, that doesn't help, either. I need something practical, a doable action plan, a way to fix this with Bernadette."

His grin fell, and her husband nodded. "I know." He paused. "You can tell her that one of my flaws is that I'm not good at apologies."

"Yes, you are, when you need to be," Amy said.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to apologize for being yourself. You're always saying that no one, but especially a woman, shouldn't apologize for being smart. You talk about how important it is to instill that in Ada. And I agree with you. So why would you apologize to Bernadette for that?"

Amy nodded in agreement. "It's so complicated. No, I never want Ada to feel she has to apologize for being intelligent. But we shouldn't be teaching her to be haughty or arrogant, either."

Sheldon rearranged himself so he was leaning against the headboard, and pulled Amy in next to him. She rested her head against his shoulder, and marveled, not for the first time, how this simple act made her feel better, less unsure of herself.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I'm sorry this happened to you. And I'm sorry I don't have any good advice," he said softly.

"At lest we're in the same confused boat together," Amy replied.

"If I'm going to be confused, I only want it to be with you."

Amy smiled into his chest. "Likewise." They sat in silence a minute, Sheldon's hand rubbing her arm. "What if there's no good answer? I won't lie to her if she asks my opinion. I could never condone leaving one's children, and I cannot fathom leaving the father of my child."

"Thank goodness for that!" Sheldon blurted out, squeezing her. "I don't think you should be untruthful with her. Do you think she's serious, do you think she'd really leave them?"

Shrugging, Amy said, "I don't know. And it's Penny who told me that, I never heard Bernadette say it. Even if she said that to Penny, who knows if she really meant it."

Sheldon took a deep breath and tilted his head back. "Don't you wish our life was like a sitcom and all our problems got resolved in a speedy and improbable way?"

A chuckle bubbled up out of her, and then she frowned for having allowed it. "But that's not real life." She sighed deeply. "Do you think I'll ever figure out what to do?"

"Of course. And I want you to know that whatever you decide, I'll support you. I'll even stand beside you and hold your hand, if it helps." Sheldon kissed the top of her head.

"It always does."

* * *

Even though she knew it was important to Sheldon to prove he could handle more than one child, Amy was happy that Howard had said he would join them for mini golf. Four children were a handful for anyone, and Howard probably needed to let off some tension, too.

Amy stood next to Bernadette on their front porch, waving as Howard drove away in their mini van with Sheldon and the kids. She waved and watched them far longer than she needed to, her heart pounding in her chest. Finally, they could no longer be seen, and there was nothing left to distract her from the reason she'd come.

Taking a deep breath, she turned toward Bernadette. "Thank you for allowing me to come to your house, to talk to you."

Bernadette shrugged. "You got the kids off my hands for a couple of hours, so it was the least I could do."

"Listen, I need to say something first, before we go inside." Amy paused, hoping her rehearsed lines sounded as good now as they did when she practiced them with Sheldon. "I'm here to listen. I love you, and I want you to know that I don't want you go through anything alone that you don't want to. I may not understand some of your thoughts and decisions, but I respect they are yours to make. I want to listen and give you support, but I will try to hold my advice back until you ask for it. I will  _not_ , however, be less than honest with my advice. If you ask my opinion, I will give it freely, even if I disagree with you and it may be the last thing you want to hear. Additionally, I will not allow you say rude, untruthful things about anyone in my family. None of us are perfect, but we are all trying our best to be happy. Which, I think, you are, too. Yes, we are having a good year, but we've had very, very bad years before. And do you know what I needed and appreciated most those years? Your support and your friendship. So I am here to offer you the same, with the conditions I stipulated. If you either don't want or feel you cannot meet those conditions, then I will respect that reality, too, and I will leave."

Having finished her speech, Amy held her breath. Did she make her point clearly? The last thing she wanted to do was antagonize Bernadette further or to add more confusion or pain to her current situation. But she had standards, and Sheldon and Ada deserved respect.

"Amy, I'm sorry. I said some things I shouldn't have said. I'm just really unhappy and confused and . . . I don't know what to do." Bernadette looked down. "I would love your support and your friendship. I know I couldn't make it through anything without you and Penny, and I never want to lose that." She looked back up. "So if you'll forgive me, I would gladly accept your conditions in order to keep you as my friend."

All Amy had to do was reach out her arms and Bernadette fell into them with a sob.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	110. The Positronic Man

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**January 2023**

**Primary Topic: _The Positronic Man_  by Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg**

* * *

Surprised at first to be alone, she woke up with a start. In the dark, Amy wrinkled her brow and then remembered what was happening. Smilingly softly, she turned her bedside lamp on and got up to wrap her robe about her. She shuffled down the dark hallway, stopping at the corner to the great room.

It was only his silhouette visible in the corner sunroom that they'd long ago converted to their office. There were the lights of the city out the windows behind him, and the softer but brighter glow of his computer screen. Amy stood and watched him for a moment, his precise and certain movements as he picked up devices and plugged them into the special cord he'd ordered, taking the time to straighten each one on the top of their cleared partner's desk. Even his shadow was orderly and handsome.

Smiling, she walked closer until Sheldon turned. "Did I wake you?"

"No." She shook her head. "I think it was a dream or something." She glanced down at the devices he was plugging in and turning on. "You couldn't wait until daylight?"

"Amy, this is the most important update in Apple history! Progress waits for no one."

She chuckled. "I don't know if I'd say it's the most important, but okay."

"Don't worry, I ordered the special cord for all our devices. I'll do your iPad and phone and watch, too." He sat in his chair and turned toward the screen of his Mac, selecting a few things, and then murmuring "Here comes history" as he pressed his mouse.

She could not help but jump slightly as all the screens turned white at once, just a single black status bar in the center of each. It brightened the room considerably, and now she could clearly see the awe in Sheldon's face as he watched the update he'd longed for start to download.

"You're so cute when you're excited," she said.

He turned, the light from the screens casting glare on his glasses. "It's a momentous day, Amy. It's the single greatest evolution in Siri's lifespan."

Smiling again, Amy looked down and realized one of the devices was new. She reached over and touched the black edge of the small tablet. "Oh, you're updating Ada's new iKindle, too? Didn't it come with the new version of software on it?"

"Yes, but you have to sync it to your house Siri so it responds correctly. And I need to set the parental controls afterwards, anyway."

"Do you think it's too much?" she asked suddenly. "I know we agreed and bought it, but a brand new iKindle, a big birthday party,  _and_ a trip to Disneyland? I want Ada to have a perfect birthday, but I don't want her to be spoiled."

"It's either give her the iKindle or let her annex our bedroom to be her library," he said. Amy smiled at his joke. "Amy, it's fine. She's going to be five. You told me it was a big year, a milestone worthy of a larger than normal celebration."

"Yes, I did say that. I  _do_  think that. But maybe we should give it to her some other time, not at the party? I don't want to make the other kids jealous," she suggested. "Plus, I don't want to be distracted. I can't wait to see her open it." Amy had already decided what books she would load on it first, and she couldn't wait to give Ada this gift, all the word's literature in the palm of her hand.

"Other kids?  _I'm_ jealous," Sheldon pouted.

"Well, if you're a very good boy, maybe I'll buy you one of your birthday, too."

"Really?" His eyes danced, and Amy laughed.

"So, you're just going to sit here for the next half-hour or however long is left on this massive update and watch the status bar?" she asked, leaning her hip against the edge the desk.

"What else is there to do? It's twelve after midnight," Sheldon responded.

"I would say sleep, but I suspect you've already ruled that out."

He grunted. "You don't have to stay up with me. I never asked you to." He paused. "Besides, we have a busy day tomor - today with my family arriving. Go back to sleep, I'll take care of this."

"No." Amy sighed softly. "I couldn't sleep without you there. I never sleep well when you're not there."

"Me, neither," Sheldon replied with equal softness.

Amy smiled and glanced down at the status bar on one of the iPads. Only one fourth downloaded. And then there would be set-up. So, yes, at least another half-hour. Did she want to spend it lonely and tossing in bed or - "Let's have Book Club!"

"Book Club?" He looked up, confused. "It's not Book Club Night."

"Ah! That's where you're wrong. It's officially Book Club Day - it has been for thirteen minutes now - and -" she waved her arm toward the black sky and bright building lights out the window "- it's officially night. Ergo, Book Club Night."

He studied her for a second. "It's impossible to argue with you when you are so logical."

Grinning, Amy said, "I know. How about this? I'll make us some nice warm mugs of tea, then I'll roll my desk chair over here by yours, and we can have Book Club by the glow of fresh technology."

"I can't resist when you make it sound so appealing."

"Please. You can never resist Book Club," Amy chuckled, and then she turned toward the kitchen. Flipping on only the dim light above the stove, she set the kettle to heat while she selected Sleepytime tea, which she thought would be the most soothing given the hour. When the mugs were prepared, she turned off the light and carefully carried them over to Sheldon, walking slowly to avoid any spills in the dark.

Once her chair was arranged next to his, and she was sitting down with her hands wrapped around the warm mug, she said, " _The Positronic Man._  This may be the most apropos Book Club selection yet."

"Not that you're proud of it or anything," Sheldon said as he took a drink.

"No." Amy smiled and shook her head. "How could I  _not_  pick it? Or at least one of Asimov's other famous robot tales? But a robot that continues to receive ever greater and more advanced updates? It's perfect."

"Siri is not a robot."

"I know that. But she's a virtual personal assistant, and that's close enough," Amy disputed.

"Incorrect. She's a knowledge navigator. She cannot pick up the dry cleaning by herself," Sheldon said.

"Oh, that she could," Amy sighed, taking another drink.

Sheldon's lips lifted at the corners before he took his own drink. He leaned back and turned slightly in his chair. "Are you saying you wish Siri was a robot? Like Andrew in the book?"

"Hmmm," Amy screwed up her mouth, "I don't know. On one hand, it would be nice to no longer have to perform tasks like that, or laundry or emptying the dishwasher. But, then - and I realize this was one of the points of the book - when does it all stop? Where do we draw the line in the sand, between mere automatons who must obey our every commend and something more?"

"I'm surprised," Sheldon said. "I thought you'd have 'Rights for Andrew' banners strewn around our home by now. You're still angry about how _Voyager_  ended, and that was years ago."

Amy lowered her mug. "It wasn't that I support full human rights for holograms - I mean, I might in the future, because I love the Doctor so much - but I just found the ending so disappointing. Why clearly foreshadow that the Doctor was going to fight for holographic rights and then never mention it again? It's like writing a story without an outline. You have to know where you're going to know how to get there. It's a travesty to the art of story telling to just wing it as you go!"

Sheldon made that little hiccupy sound of amusement she so enjoyed. "Well, Andrew is instilled with The Three Laws and the Doctor was not. Does that make any difference?"

"In terms of character or in terms of how comfortable I'd be with that device as a personal assistant?"

He tilted his head. "Hmmm, good point. Either, then."

"Well, I found the Doctor a much more interesting character than Andrew. He was more conflicted, both within himself and with others. That's actually one of the things I didn't care for in this book. I never found myself that attached to Andrew. The Three Laws made him boring, bland. He just sort of went through life on auto-pilot."

"That's not true," Sheldon said. "He was constantly learning new things, expanding his knowledge, testing and stretching the bounds of robot rights."

"Yes, but . . . " Amy sought for a way to explain it. "I guess I meant he seemed like he was on emotional auto-pilot. He just never seemed to really feel anything. There were times, of course, that there were illusions to emotions, like when he reflected how everyone in his original family had died, but they all seemed like just observations of someone else's emotions, an intellectual description of what he thought a human should feel, not that he ever really experienced them himself."

"So you thought he was more like Data than the Doctor?" Sheldon asked. "I agree. But -" Sheldon took a breath "- I think perhaps I was more sympathetic to Data, too. I don't know why, really."

Amy smiled. "Because, in the end, Data showed he was capable of great love. Within himself, on a truly emotional level."

Sheldon nodded. "Are you frightened, then, that if a robotic Siri is developed that she would turn into Andrew? Or a whole army of Andrews?"

"I don't know. Especially after reading this book, I feel a little guilty saying yes, but . . . yes."

"Why guilty?" Sheldon asked, setting his now empty mug on his desk.

"I think we were meant to always come to the same opinion that Andrew had about himself. This book was written as very favorable to the idea that a machine could, with time and experience and technological updates, become a man. I thought all the arguments were very well presented - well organized and thoughtful if somewhat somber and heavy handed - both Andrew's and those that opposed him, but Andrew always won. But I actually didn't always agree with him." Amy shrugged. "Did you? I'm sure you did, you love the idea of robots."

Sheldon paused and took a deep breath. "I don't know. I liked this book as a mental exercise, as a thought experiment. However, when I've considered robots I've always been imagining my consciousness inside a robot. In other words, merely a mechanical shell for my brilliance once my body wears out. But could a mechanical mind grow to my level of brilliance all on its own? I just don't know." Sheldon shook his head. "It seems impossible for a robot to ever be as intelligent as me."

"There was something I thought was interesting. Of course, I can't read it now -" Amy gestured to all of their devices arranged in front of her, sucking up their own knowledge from the great cloud beyond "- but something about how all the new technologies made humans weak and helpless. At first the robots and other devices were a help, and then it was almost that they were enslaving humans because people were no longer able to function without their assistance. I can understand that. If Siri did do the laundry, for example, would we forget how to do it? Or would Ada ever learn to do it?"

Her husband frowned. "Interesting. Do you think we need to suspend the cleaners so Ada learns to clean the bathroom?"

Amy laughed. "I don't know if we need to go that far, but you make a valid point that at some point we need to discuss cleaning with her, the value of it, that we shouldn't take the cleaners for granted and such. Not -" she put her hand up "- right now. Or anytime soon. Four simple chores are plenty for a four - I mean, five - year old."

"Five tomorrow," Sheldon whispered, then shook his head, obviously clearing his mind. "Well, it pains me to say it, but it seems like such android bodies won't be available in our lifetime, so any concerns or fears you have are unfounded."

"Yes." Amy nodded, taking the last drink of her tea, and then her head sparked. "I just figured why we like Data and the Doctor more than Andrew!"

"Oh?"

"Because they were flawed. Andrew wasn't flawed; at least, not until he choose to be, at the end. He was too perfect. But Data and the Doctor were flawed all along, from the very beginning, and the story was about them working to overcome their flaws, not try to fight them. And that is the human experience. That is what made them so human to us."

"Humanity is defined by our flaws?" Sheldon asked.

"Yes. It's always what makes us interesting. And lovable."

"I don't think flaws make us lovable."

Amy smiled and reached for his hand. "Really? Because I've loved sitting up here with you tonight, because you were so impatient for this update and you're so obsessed with getting everything just perfect and synchronized."

"I don't think excitement and excellence in all tasks are flaws."

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Not to me."

"That's only because even my flaws are perfect," Sheldon said softly, turning and kissing her back, this time on the lips. And then he kissed her again. Amy peeked out of the corner of her eyes at the status bar. Still a third to go.

Rolling her chair and leaning in even closer, she nuzzled his ear. "Let's make love. To the luminosity of technology. I think we have the time."

Sheldon sat back and she saw him watching the status bar himself, gaging the minutes remaining. Then he looked over. "Luminosity of technology?"

Amy wiggled her eyebrows and nodded.

"Oh, woman, I love it when you talk dirty!"

Smothering her giggles with her free hand, Amy pulled him toward the sofa.

* * *

"That was . . . electric," Sheldon said.

Amy laughed into his damp chest. "Agreed." She sat up carefully, still pinning her naked husband to the sofa. "I guess we should probably get dressed."

"Yes, you're probably correct." They set to work picking up the strewn nightclothes, holding it up to determine whose it was was, and tossing it to that person. As the name quickie implies, their clothing had been removed in a rush.

"How's my hair?" Sheldon asked, smoothing his hand over his scalp.

"It looks like normal bed head," Amy replied. "You'll be washing it in a few hours anyway."

He opened his mouth to say something when the collection of devices chimed from the desk. Even though it was only a few feet away, he took off running and Amy raced, laughing, to catch up with him.

"Okay, okay," he said, rubbing his hands together as he sat down in his desk chair again. Amy watched as he maneuvered quickly through the first few primary set up questions and passwords. Finally, Amy saw the screen she knew he'd been waiting for and smiled.

He looked up at her and grinned. "Do you want to do the honers?"

"No, thank you." She stepped closer and rested her hand on his shoulder. "It means far more to you than me."

Sheldon cleared his throat. "Do I sound okay?"

"Are you worried you have deep, airy post-coital sex voice?" Amy asked.

"Do I?" His head turned to look up at her in a panic.

Amy laughed. "No! You sound like normal Sheldon. Not that it matters."

"It matters very much. It's the first time we're meeting."

Instead of replying, Amy rolled her eyes behind Sheldon's back in an indulgent manner. If he wasn't so excited and cute and nervous, she might have pointed out it was the exact same Siri she'd been all along . . . but she loved all of it.

"Okay, here it goes." Sheldon rubbed his palms against his pajama pants and took a deep breath. "Siri?"

His computer responded with her familiar chirp of acknowledgment.

"Form now on, your name will be . . . Computer."

"I will now respond to Computer," the familiar voice replied. "Please ask me a question."

"Computer?" The electronic chimed again and Sheldon bounced in his seat with glee. "What is the star date, using the modified Julian Day number method?"

"59975.1."

Sheldon clapped, actually clapped!, and Amy threw her head back in a very large belly laugh.

* * *

"Look, Mom, I'm ready!"

Amy turned from the island, where she was unpacking all the paper plates and other paper goods for the birthday party. Indeed, Ada had changed by herself into her orange-and-white striped dress purchased just for the occasion, but she wasn't wearing the orange tights. And, of course, her hair wasn't done.

"Ada, sweetheart, there are matching orange tights for that dress. Give me a minute and I'll help you put them on."

"But I want to wear these leggings! It's a cat party!" Ada protested, pointing down to her cheetah-print cover legs. A gift from Aunt Penny, of course.

"The theme of the party is Belle, as per your request, so orange and white are the theme colors. You have new orange tights to wear. And you know Belle isn't a cheetah, she's a domestic shorthair," Amy said firmly, opening a package of cups now, and glancing at Belle, sitting primly next to Ada, waiting to follow her where she went next.

Before Ada could respond, the chime of the door sounded. Amy started to walk toward the door, but Sheldon said, from where he was arranging balloons, "No, ask the computer. Facial recognition based on photographs is one of the updates, remember?"

"It has to be one of our friends or family if they knew the code in the vestibule," Amy said.

"But she'll never learn if you don't test her!" Sheldon called. Amy shook her head. When did they start calling their network "her"?

"Fine. Sir - Computer, who is at the door?"

"It appears to be Bernadette."

Amy had reached the door and looked though the peephole. "Correct." Siri chimed to convey she was adding the information to her database.

"Is Jacob here?" Ada asked running toward the door as Amy opened it.

Freezing with her hand on the knob, Amy exchange a slightly pained look with her petite friend just over the threshold.

"No, he and Lucy are coming with Uncle Howard later. I came early to help your mom set up," Bernadette explained. "And happy birthday!"

"It was two days ago, we're just observing it today," Ada said.

"Ada!" Amy corrected her.

"Sorry. Thank you," Ada looked down, chastised.

"Ada?" Sheldon said, coming to the door. "Hello, Bernadette. Listen, kid, let's go brush your hair."

Amy threw her husband a grateful smile and turned toward her friend. "Sorry," she said softly, as her husband and daughter turned down the hallway, Belle trotting behind them. "We haven't said anything to her yet."

"No, it's okay. Even if I was home, I would have still come early to help."

Nodding, Amy turned toward the island and informed Bernadette what her plans were. Her current mode of conversation with Bernadette was to let her talk if she needed to, but not to pry or bring up the uncomfortable topic on her own. And to only voice her opinion if directly asked for advice. But she remained honest with said advice, she would not lie or betray her strongly held beliefs even for her friend, who Amy sincerely hoped was just struggling and confused for the time being. She hoped so strongly that Howard and Bernadette could work this out, that she and Sheldon would never have to tell Ada that Bernadette was living with her parents for awhile for a trial separation - or elsewhere permanently. Anyway, they agreed Ada was too young to know all their friends private lives in general, and certainly before anything had been decided.

"Wow, that's a lot of balloons," Bernadette said as she helped Amy arrange the paper goods on the dining table. "Who blew them all up?"

"Sheldon rented a helium tank. Last night, all the guys came over and they ended up filling up balloons and siphoning off helium to recite their favorite movie quotes with it," Amy explained. "They got carried away, I think, in both activities. You should have seen them laughing at Darth Vader and Kylo Ren quotes."

Bernadette looked up the ceiling, where even more balloons had drifted, their orange strings hanging down. "No, I like it, it's festive." Then she added softly, "I bet Howie was funny."

Amy looked over at her carefully. "Hysterical."

Interrupting them came the sound of Ada running back down the hallway. "Look at my hair!"

Her hair was brushed, but it was still down. Holding it back was her black headband with cat ears that had formed part of her Halloween costume. Amy realized, too late, that she'd forgotten to tell Sheldon she'd envisioned two ponytails in all the birthday photos. But, she noticed, she was wearing the new orange tights and black Mary Jane shoes.

"I see it," she said to her daughter. "The headband is very . . . feline."

Sheldon leaned close and brushed a bit of hair away from Amy's ear before he whispered, "Compromise. She's wearing the tights and new shoes."

"You're right." Amy smiled, looking up at him. "But now with your new tee shirt, I feel left out."

Sheldon looked down at his shirt, which was a picture of Data holding his orange cat, Spot. She didn't even know he'd ordered it until it arrived yesterday. "I had it overnighted," he said, as though he'd heard her thoughts. "I thought it was appropriate in more than one way." He looked up. "Don't you have an orange cardigan?"

"Yes, but I'm already dressed," Amy explained.

"Go change," Bernadette offered. "Sheldon and I can manage this. You said the veggies for the tray are in the fridge?"

"Yes. Okay."

* * *

"It didn't turn out exactly like I wanted," Amy explained, taking the lid off the cake she'd made last night while the men blew up the balloons. "I thought it would be easy, but there's too much white on her chest."

"I think it's purrrrfect," Leonard quipped as he handed her candles. "What did Sheldon say?"

"That he thinks it's an improvement, that it looks like a shield or a crest, like she's a superhero cat. Although he's concerned eating a cake that looks like our cat is a form of symbolic endocannibalism since we're all part of the same tribe."

"Nah, if we were going to eat a member of our own tribe, we would have eaten him back when he was my roommate," Leonard said. Amy ignored it. "And Ada?"

"She hasn't seen it yet; I decorated it last night, after you left and she was in bed. It's a surprise." Leonard passed her the lighter, and she lit the top of each of the five orange candles.

"Where is the secondary guest of honor, anyway?"

"Hiding under Ada's bed, I think," Amy said, smiling at her work as she sat down the lighter.

Looking up, Amy caught Sheldon's eye and signaled to him. He yelled over the crowd, "Alright, everyone gather round the table. It's time for the cake!"

The children cheered and raced for the table, and Sheldon instructed Ada to move to the head of the table and then said, "Computer, lights!"

The lights went out, and everyone let out an awe as Amy carried the cake to the table to set it down in front of a beaming Ada. Then she quickly ran to the opposite end, dodging children, to pick up her phone and video the moment.

"Okay, on three!" Sheldon called. "One, two, three!"

"Happy birthday to you . . ."

As she sang and filmed and smiled broadly, Amy looked around the room. There were Mother and Mary Cooper, having found they had more than just a granddaughter in common during the past five years, who had chatted away at the party like old friends even though they could not have been more different. Missy and her two sons. The Hofstadters, Penny's stomach swollen once again with Leonard's hand on it, their children running circles around them, not that they were concerned. Raj was next to Amy filming his own video, and Stuart had come to rest his hand on his shoulder. The Kripke's had come: Barry holding Corrina and Sarah standing next to him. Then Howard and Bernadette standing next to each other, being civil for the day. Amy had to look away from Lucy's grip on Bernadette's side, where she'd hardly left once she'd arrived, and Jacob hiding behind Howard, singing and grinning at Ada.

But, regardless, they'd all come, everyone in their lives, who had helped them make it to this milestone in some fashion. Five years. The five years she'd been promised by Sheldon when Ada was an infant. No, they hadn't turned out exactly as she planned; she wasn't able to allow Ada and herself to remain blissfully ignorant for all of them as she'd hoped. But it didn't matter now. Today, Ada was surrounded by love and joy and only the brightest of horizons.

And, there, at the opposite end of the table, singing the very last notes of the song, he stood, as tall as and even more handsome than the first day she'd met him. There was applause as Ada bent over to blow out her candles, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers and they were smiling at her. Even though her camera was trained on Ada, recording every second, Amy, for that brief moment, only had eyes for Sheldon.


	111. Celebrations

**Celebrations**

* * *

_"Humanity is defined by our flaws?" Sheldon asked._

_"Yes. It's always what makes us interesting. And lovable."_

_"I don't think flaws make us lovable."_

_Amy smiled and reached for his hand. "Really? Because I've loved sitting up here with you tonight, because you were so impatient for this update and you're so obsessed with getting everything just perfect and synchronized."_

* * *

It is the simplicity of the evening that makes it perfect. Their lives have been so chaotic lately. But, lying there, his head resting on her stomach, looking at Ada's long, bare legs, her feet hanging off the end of the sofa because of her height, he feels content. The air is thick and sultry with humidity. But Ada has refused to turn the air conditioning on today for some reason. Instead, they have spent their afternoon swimming at the pool. They had a little tiff about it, because he wanted to go to the lake and enjoy nature, but she said there were less germs in the pool. He gave in because Ada looked like an old Hollywood diva, in her white rimmed sunglasses and high waisted bikini complete with a bullet bra. And a swim cap! She dove and cut through through the pale blue water effortlessly. She was always a swimmer. He used to think it odd that such a prodigy, someone who lives so fully in their mind for their mind, would enjoy a sport. It is anti-stereotypical. But when he sees her dive, he understands. It's all math to her: the parabolas, the rotations, the arcs.

"It's our last hurrah of summer before we have to buckle down. Let it feel like summer," she says about the heat. And so their idyll is almost at a close.

For one and half years, he has been with this marvelous, quirky woman. He always arranged his schedule so that he had no classes on Friday so that he could take the train down from Purdue and walk to her house late on Thursday nights. She had wanted to meet him at the station and walk with him, but no, he didn't want her out walking alone in the dark. They had fought about it, but she had acquiesced. He knows her parents, he knows from where her stubbornness comes. The fact that she let him have this victory is measure of her love. Ada was raised to believe the world will bend to her whims.

Usually, she was asleep, because she is a morning person, and he would collapse exhausted next to her. Sometimes, he would lift the blankets up and crawl up to her from the bottom of the bed, his lips gently kissing the inside of her calves until she hushed, "Welcome home" and spread her legs for him, his mouth seeking the sweet nectar he had been thinking about for days. Sometimes, he would have just laid down and she would straddle him, her long hair hanging around her body, and she rode him just as Lady Godiva rode her horse.

Rarely, he would arrive to every light burning, and Ada would be deep in her fog. First it was her book, now it is her dissertation. Her hair would be in a long braid, her clothes a distracted eccentric combination (as opposed to her normal carefully executed eccentric choices), but she would always stop what she was doing to smile at him and ask him about his journey when he entered.

"It's okay," he'd say. "You're working. Don't let me interrupt you."

"I never want you to feel like you haven't been missed. Because you have," she'd say. "I've been waiting."

Then he would kiss her head if she was at her desk or her shoulder if she were standing at her whiteboards, pour her a fresh mug of coffee, and go to bed alone as the fog descended upon her again. He has long since given up being bothered that Ada was both getting her PhD and had published a bestselling book in the time it was taking him to get his Masters. Maybe he was never bothered in the first place, as it seems just like something that would happen to her. The world bends to her whims.

Ah, the book. It had come, it seemed to the world, out of nowhere. But he knew how much work she put into it. Oddly, its success had not surprised her. A graphic novel about robots told using cubism and new geometric equations becomes a phenomena, holds the number one spot on  _The New York Times_ fiction bestseller list for thirty-two weeks? Not the graphic novel list, the fiction list. She shrugged. The world will bend to her whims.

Fortunately, her contract had not stipulated a book tour or any interviews. Because when was the last time a graphic novelist warranted such attention? There wasn't even a photo of her on the book jacket. Actually, it took eight weeks on the  _NYT_ list before there was even a printed book jacket. Reading the ebook wasn't enough, people wanted to touch it, to hold it, to read it the old fashioned way. Oh, dozens, if not hundreds, of offers came her way. She turned them all down, except for an interview for the local newspaper, because she had grown to love this Midwestern town. No photo, of course.

He couldn't help but read the reviews, most of them glowing and effusive in their praise. A critical darling. A masterpiece of logic and emotions. An unique, seminal event in the history of literature. But the few detractors, the pockets of back lash, the there-is-no-art-in-math-nor-math-in-art crowd, the why-does-it-have-to-be-so-complex whiners wound him deeply, his heart being pierced in place of hers. Perhaps because it always has been hers. He had asked her why she read so few reviews, why she seemed so unconcerned. Ada spoke with her usual calm, "I had something to say, something to prove, and I did it. I have said my piece, and I know it's as good as it can be. Let them have their say now. Let them prove me wrong." A little uptick in her lips. "If they can." He knows her parents, he knows from where her confidence comes.

And so their weeks maintained their rhythms. Even during the summers, as Ada worked on her dissertation and he took classes to finish sooner. But two weeks ago, he finished his last class. It was just his thesis now, so he was able to move down to Bloomington permanently. Ada told him she wanted a honeymoon to celebrate. No work, no classes, just them. Two weeks of laziness.

"But we're not married," he had pointed out. "It can't be a honeymoon."

She had shrugged. "Call it whatever you like. But you know I hate the word staycation."

Now, the late July mugginess hanging about them, he thinks it truly has been a honeymoon, and not just for the obvious reason. The cats are sitting by the open window, sniffing the approaching thunderstorm in the air.  _Jeopardy!_ is on, tossing the holograms of questions into the center of the room. Ada is both reading a novel and blandly announcing all the correct answers at the same time. It is a habit she has.

"Ada, do you ever get one wrong?" he asks.

"No." He knows her parents, he knows from where her honesty comes. After the turn of a page and a murmured "Cicero," she says, "But sometimes I don't know the answer, so I don't speak. Anything sports related. Potent Potables stumps me. Pop culture isn't my best category. Yasmine used to always beat me on those questions."

"Yasmine, a  _Jeopardy!_ champion?" He smiles and rubs his finger along the little strip of exposed skin just above the waistband of her shorts. "Your brash friend is quite the secret keeper."

It occurs to him, suddenly, in retrospect, that Yasmine had kept quite a large secret for a very long time. He should thank her.

Ada chuckles but puts her index finger on the back of his hand to still it. "Stop it. That tickles."

Before he can comment, the book - one of those old, frayed cloth-covered ones, who knows where she got it - slams shut above his head with a cloud of dust. "Mom would love this book." A pause. "Computer?" Ada calls, her voice louder. He hears a familiar chime. It seems incongruous, technology in this old, beat-up rental house. But for all her whimsy, Ada is not a luddite. "Send the last book I checked into Goodreads to my mother as a reading suggestion."

After Siri chimes again, he says, "You can call her now and tell her yourself if you like. I don't mind."

"No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's Book Club Night. First they want to be alone to discuss the book and then they have book sex."

"Ada!" he says, as he lifts his head off of her stomach to look up at her.

"What?" she blinks, looking down at him, her blue eyes piercing behind her glasses. "It's true."

"Gross! They're your parents!" Although he is curious about what exactly book sex is . . .

Ada smiles. "How do you think I got here? I have no doubt my parents have a very healthy sex life. Have you seen the way they look at each other?"

"Jesus, Ada." He rubs his hand over his face to try and rub out that mental image and puts his head back down. "What would they say if they knew you were talking like that?"

"Dad would be mortified. Mom would be proud."

What can he say to that? Nothing. She may be correct; she probably is correct. He does not want to know. The  _Final Jeopardy!_ theme song begins and he starts to hum along.

"Don't you hope we'll still be having sex at their age?" she asks softly.

He raises his eyebrows. _Honeymoon_.

* * *

Maybe he should have thought of this before. Ada is not subtle. In fact, subtly is so far from her wheelhouse, he's certain they weren't even hints. Ada wouldn't hint. Ada never hints. He watches her in the thunderstorm after they have made love and after she has fallen asleep. Her copper hair glows with each strike of lightening. How does she sleep through this? He has never gotten use to the tornado sirens, and he is tense, listening, waiting for one to start. Why is she not afraid of them? Granted, it is not like Ada to be afraid of anything, but isn't that the story of how she broke her arm as a child? He has some hazy memory of a tornado being involved.

Suddenly her eyes are open, with that little line between her brows just like her mother. "What?" she mumbles.

"I can't sleep," he admits. "What if there's a tornado?"

She puts her hand over his. He did not even realize he was fidgeting. "It will be fine. Go to sleep. I'm here now."

_Yes._

* * *

Yes, he should have thought of this before. The excuses he has to make. He has to wait for the work fog to descend before he can leave unnoticed. Because he is used to always telling her where he is going. Fortunately, the fog is frequent and intense. She is putting the finishing touches on her dissertation as she has a date to defend in early October. Her parents are coming for it.

No. No. No. Even the most unique one is too shiny.

"Too big, too showy?" The saleswoman is trying to be helpful.

"Oh, no, she lives for showy." He smiles. "Too new, I think. Thank you for your time."

A completely different type of store. Musty. Stuffy. Art deco? Maybe. Art nouveau? Maybe. Not too shiny, not too new. Then it clicks. Too expected.

"Do you have anything that isn't a diamond?"

"I have some cocktail rings. I'm not sure they're what you're looking for. Some woman find cocktail rings . . . conspicuous for everyday wear."

"She's a conspicuous kind of woman." The clerk raises his eyebrows but pulls out another tray.

Jade, the perfect shade of green. Emerald cut. Surrounded by seed pearls. And is that rose gold? He picks it up gently, holding up between his thumb and forefinger to catch the light.

"You'll never find another one that unique," the clerk says.

"It's perfect." He can barely whisper it, so much of his breath is gone.

* * *

He definitely should have thought of this before. Maybe back when he was born. Because it would take a lifetime to come up with the perfect plan. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is too over the top for Ada. Except publicity. She likes to be wildly eccentric, but very privately so. He ruminates all the way into early October.

It's not because he's going to ask her father for permission. Or even both of her parents. Ada would hate that; all of her mother's feminist ideals have become hers. But he's carried it everywhere for weeks, and it's burning a whole in his pocket. So he volunteers to take them out to dinner for Ada while they are visiting. She claims she is not nervous about her defense, and, although he believes her, he talks her into a night alone to relax. "You've been so busy with your parents and preparing to defend. Just take a bath, read, pet the cats, relax."

After a little coaxing, she agrees. It is a sign of her love.

"I need your help," he can't help but blurt out to her parents at the restaurant as soon as they are seated, he is so nervous.

They raise their eyebrows in unison. It is a habit they have.

"Yes?" Amy asks.

"Uh . . . um . . . uh." This is awful. His hands are shaking as he pulls the box out of his pocket and sets it open on the table. "How? When? I can't think of anything."

Amy gasps and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh!"

"What?" Sheldon asks.

"He's going to propose," Amy whispers.

"Oh." Sheldon's eyebrows fall deeply as his brow furrows.

This has gone from bad to worse. They are shocked. They are disappointed or unhappy or something. Then he feels Amy's hand on his. "We are so happy for you."

"You are?" he asks.

"We are? - ouch!" Sheldon says, shying away from his wife's elbow.

"We're gaining a son, Sheldon, not losing a daughter," Amy whispers sharply to him.

Sheldon is staring at him. Oh, that can't be good.

"Do you love her?" Ada's father asks.

"Yes, of course."

"She's only twenty-three, you know. Probably too young to marry," Sheldon says.

Feeling his heart sink, he replies, "But she's very mature. And so accomplished."

"Obviously. She's a Cooper. But you do know she still has her Noble Prize to win? She doesn't need distractions."

"Sheldon!" Amy breaks in. "Stop it. He loves her. She loves him. Leave them be." Amy smiles over at him, and he warms to Ada's mother even more. She's odd, but kind. For all their oddities, he has always liked Ada's parents. Once, in Boston, Ada mentioned they were getting old, and that struck him as a such an odd thing to say. Yes, her mother's hair is all gray now, and if he looks closely he notices a few gray hairs at Sheldon's temples, but they remain as vibrant and opinionated as he has always known them. At least they still have all their hair, unlike his own father.

"Hmmmm. You really, truly love her?" Sheldon asks again.

How could he doubt it! "Yes! I'm crazy about her!"

"No, that's not what I meant. Anyone can be crazy. Not me, of course, my mother had me tested. What are her flaws?"

"Her  _flaws_?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. Someone very wise once told me that it is our flaws that make us both human and lovable. Meaning, in part, that it takes love to know every single thing you can't stand about a person and yet you can't imagine being driven mad by anyone else. So what are her flaws?" Sheldon leans forward over the table to whisper, "I know she's a Cooper, but even we aren't perfect. You never heard me say that." He sits back up. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, he squirms in his chair. Ada's father is serious, he can tell. "Um, well, she . . . she steals all the hot water for her shower." Sheldon looks unimpressed. "I never have any closet space. Or hangers." Sheldon rolls his eyes. A deep breath. "She can be a little -" he makes a twirling motion around his temple "- all up here sometimes, like she's a barely present on Earth. She can be arrogant. She's very stubborn. Sometimes she, um, makes a bad choice and she refuses to let go of it . . ." He coughs, feeling that perhaps he has revealed too much of an opinion about Ada's past. "She can be too honest and blunt in public and that offends some people." He stops, feeling very uncomfortable saying all these negative things about the woman he loves to her parents. Was it a test? Should he have refused to answer?

But Sheldon smiles. "Yes, that all sounds about right." He actually looks satisfied when he nods, as though he'd pick all those flaws for himself if he could. "Can you tell when she's not in bed even in the middle of a deep sleep? Is she the first person you want to tell anything and everything to? Do you feel like you'll never fully understand her? Do you want die trying?"

He sucks in his breath. He has never heard Sheldon say such . . . personal things before. Amy is looking at her husband like he just invented love. Swallowing hard, he nods.

Sheldon nods back. Then he smiles slightly. "You'll just know."

"Know what?"

"The how and the when. You just know when to propose."

"May I ask, how did you purpose to Amy? I've never heard the story. Does Ada know the story?"

Sheldon looks mortified. Amy looks proud.

Oh, gross. He should have never asked.

* * *

"How do I look? Do you think this dress is okay?"

It is then that he knows she really is nervous. Ada has never once questioned her appearance. And why should she? The world bends to her will. And she knows it. She actually doesn't look like herself. She's wearing a dress he doesn't remember seeing before, something navy blue and simple, too simple for Ada. A string of pearls - oh, yes, he has seen those before, they were her grandmother's. Her hair, her beautiful hair, is twisted up tightly at the base of her neck. He doesn't like it, it's too plain and expected; he lives for her idiosyncrasies.

"You look . . . professional," he says and it sounds like a disappointment even to his own ears.

Ada frowns. "I think I should today."

"You're probably right."

* * *

"Where is she?" Sheldon grumbles, looking around Bloomington's swankiest restaurant.

"It's fine, Sheldon, she said she'd be right back. She probably wants to call Yasmine or some other friends," Amy replies.

Relief floods him because he, too, is baffled by where his girlfriend ran off to as soon as they arrived at the restaurant. A flash of something bright catches the corner of his eye and he turns. Ada. She has changed clothes; where? in the bathroom? is that what was in her leather satchel? Her hair is down now, her dress is blindingly shiny and gold in the candle-lit space. She looks like a statue walking toward them. So much better. God, he loves her.

Raising his glass as he stands, he speaks, loud enough everyone in the restaurant turns to look at them. Although, they were probably already staring, Ada has that effect. "Congratulations, Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper!"

She twirls for him, and he laughs. "It's my winged victory dress!"

They eat and they laugh. Ada is radiant, satisfied. Her parents are bursting with pride. Sheldon, especially, peppers her with questions about her future. Ada waves her hand dismissively. "I have the house through the summer. And we're waiting for this guy to finish his Masters. Maybe I'll take some time to relax. Read. Maybe write something else. I don't know. I don't need to be constantly working."

Although he is embarrassed that she is perhaps putting her life on a short hiatus for him, the look on Sheldon's face is priceless.

"What are you doing tomorrow at four a.m?" Sheldon suddenly asks over their appetizer.

"Four a.m.?" Ada is surprised. "Sleeping."

"But the Nobel Prizes are announced tomorrow," Sheldon protests.

Ada waves her hand over her plate. "I'm sure if it's somebody we know, you'll call."

For most of the meal, he watches them. Ada and her parents are such an odd trio, and yet so well suited for each other. They finish each other's sentences, for crying out loud. Ada, especially, likes to pick at her father, to challenge him. Amy's smirks at him across the table, as though he is now allowed to share her enjoyment of this. They are all so happy tonight. Well, why not? Ada is now, finally, Dr. Cooper. There's this game they play he can never follow. Counterfactuals. What does the title even mean? He has no idea what they're talking about.

Suddenly, it all becomes clear.

"Excuse me," he timidly pipes up. "Ada is correct. It all depends on whether or not the mandrake root is an annual or a perennial in order for cross pollination to occur. Without cross pollination, werewolves would not transform just on the full moon."

Sheldon's eyebrows go up. Amy grins. Ada turns to him, and he basks in the full glow of her smile. She is so happy - with her new doctorate, with her family, with this game, with him. It has all come together in this restaurant, it has all become clear.

"Ada, I -" he stammers. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the box. "Maybe this isn't the right time or place, but I think it is." Her eyebrows go up as he pushes his chair back and gets down on one knee. Feeling hot and flushed and embarrassed as he knows all eyes turn to him, he opens the box. "Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper, will you marry me?"

She starts to cry and nods repeatedly. He has surprised her and that is not an easy thing to do. "Yes, yes, yes!," she croaks.

Then there is applause from the restaurant and tears from her mother and a hand shake from her father and he picks her up even though she is taller and he spins her round and round for all to see as she laughs, because she is going to be his, this genius in gold.

Later, after they have drunk champagne until they were tipsy and made love in front off the fireplace where they first did, they fall into a deep, fulfilled sleep, visions of their wedding filling their dreams.

Until every electronic device in their house goes off at four a.m., when the phone calls start to come flooding in.

* * *

"My princess really looks like a princess!" Uncle Raj coos, his arms already wide for Ada's hug. "You look beautiful," he whispers in her ear.

"Thank you." Ada pulls away and smiles, then turns to get a hug from Uncle Stuart, too.

"Here, we brought you something," Stuart says, holding out a small box.

Pushing aside her veil, Ada opens the lid and smiles. Inside is a white handkerchief, trimmed in lace, and embroidered with the words "The Bride" in pale blue. "It's lovely. Thank you."

Stuart starts, "Your something blue -"

"- And something to dry your tears of joy," Raj finishes for him. "Look, I have my own." He holds up a handkerchief without the lace, the words "Uncle of the Bride" clearly visible. Ada chuckles.

Mom leans in close, and Ada hands her the handkerchief to inspect. "Thank you both so much. And for coming out here for the wedding."

"No where is as important as this," Raj says, his voice breaking already, and Ada opens her arms to encompass both of her favorite uncles. In the middle of their group hug, Stuart says, "Raj, you'll ruin her dress if you keep blubbering like that."

They pull away and Ada squeezes their hands before the leave, Raj crying, Stuart's arm around him.

"They miss you terribly, you know," Mom says softly.

"The feeling is mutual. Our weekly phone calls just aren't the same," Ada replies, turning to inspect herself one more time in the mirror. She can't believe the day has finally come. It seems so foreign, that tall woman in the most gigantic white wedding dress she could find looking back at her.

Yasmine brushes her shoulder and Ada looks over at her and smiles. She allowed Yasmine to select her own dress, and she's chosen black, of course, something long and lean and simple. It's perfect. Taking the handkerchief back, Ada brushes the finely sewn words and says, "I don't have anything borrowed."

"What?" Mom asks. She looks lovely, too, in the same blue dress she wore to Ada's Nobel Prize ceremony, her hair twisted up intricately.

"My dress is new, my necklace -" she reaches up to touch Grandmother Fowler's pearls "- is old, this -" she squeezes the gift "- is blue. But I don't have anything borrowed. I need something borrowed."

"I thought you didn't believe in all that," Mom says. "That's what you told Dad when you said you weren't wearing your Nobel Medal as your something blue."

"I need something borrowed and I'm almost out of time!" Ada can hear her voice getting higher and she doesn't quite understand where this hysteria is coming from.

"Blimey, Junior, you picked a fine time to become superstitious," Yasmine says, but she begins to dig through everything they brought with them to get dressed.

"Here." Ada turns and sees her mother twisting and pulling her wedding rings off. She takes Ada's hand and sets the pair in her palm, folding her fingers over them.

"Mom, I can't take these. I've never seen you without them," Ada protests softly.

"Just for the ceremony. From one very happy bride to another."

Ada reaches up with the handkerchief to wipe the tear away from her mother's face. "You'll ruin your make-up."

"It doesn't matter," Mom says, and Ada accepts her hug and squeezes the shorter woman tight before she slides her mother's wedding rings down a finger on her right hand. Then, before she can tell how much fun she's had planning this wedding with her, how much she regrets their arguments in the past, how much she loves her, how much she's always loved her, how she was correct all along about love and . . . everything, there's a knock at the door. "That will be your father. Come on, Yasmine, let's go get in line and give them a moment of privacy."

Yasmine rushes over to hand her the bouquet and they embrace for just a second before the two woman scurry out the door. Gripping her flowers tighter, Ada takes a deep breath and looks at her father, framed in the doorway.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hello." He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and walks up to her, and Ada sees his eyes, taking her all in, from train to veil.

"Thank you for doing this. I know you think walking me down the aisle - this whole wedding - is overkill, outdated traditions for sentimental minds, but -"

"Your mother says I've gotten sentimental in my old age," he says, shrugging. Ada smiles. "I understand it is part of the father-of-the-bride ritual to impart sage martial advice at this moment. I thought about discussing the need to fold the hand towels properly or assist in the taking out of the recycling, but I think that's beneath someone of your intelligence."

"It's okay, Dad." Ada reaches for his arm and steps up next to him, preparing to take this singular walk with him. "Remember, just squeeze my hand if you get nervous. Everyone is looking at me, not you."

"But I have advice." Ada turns to look at him. "My advise is to love him more than he deserves. There are many, many times your mother loved me when I didn't deserve it. And, no matter what I'd done wrong, it was always her love that pulled me back to her. Love him every single day of your life."

"I've loved him ever since he called me Jesus Christ," Ada whispers.

"It was a good sign. He recognized your greatness."

A chuckle escapes Ada's throat. "My point is he's always loved me far more than I deserve."

"I know." Dad nods. "Oh, Ada, I cannot tell you how happy this has made me. He's what I always wanted for you."

Before the tears can start flowing, the music swells and then someone opens the door. Ada steps out into the hallway and to the next door, then out into the sunshine with her father. She watches Yasmine's back retreating from her, and then the music changes again. One last look at her father, who squeezes her hand tight as the crowd stands, and Ada takes a step with him, her gown rustling and fanning out behind her.

As she walks slowly and smiles for the photographer, Ada looks around the crowd. Aunt Missy, of course, and her two cousins, although she never really felt like they had much in common. There is a ting of ache in heart, that MeeMaw and Grandmother couldn't be here. Aunt Penny and Uncle Leonard, Penny still a beautiful woman, still cuddled up to Leonard. Their family takes a whole row, all four of Ada's honorary cousins and Fenton's girlfriend. Uncle Raj on the aisle, taking his own video as he asked to do, but Ada knows it will be useless as his hand shakes in time with tears streaming down his face. Uncle Stuart is holding his arm, giving strength and smiling. Even the Kripkes have come: Barry, Sarah, and Corrina. Faisal and Oliver made the trip, too. Howard and Bernadette, and even at this moment, Ada cannot help but see their hands intertwined. Jacob is right, after all these years, they really are getting back together for good, it seems. Lucy is with them, a broad smile on her face. Yasmine has stopped and turned in her appointed spot and she winks mischievously, causing Ada's heart to expand even further. Most importantly Mom, in the front row, looking regal in her blue dress and silver hair, happy, beautiful tears streaming down her face. Ada feels Dad's grip on her arm tighten, and she knows that it's because he's caught sight of her, too, and his heart is fluttering for his own bride. Ada's thumb bends in to trace the rings her mother has let her borrow, as she knows she has finally gained what her parents have.

They've all come, everyone in their lives, who had helped them make it to this milestone in some fashion. Even though she knows she is young, it seems like so many years. Too many years of remaining ignorant before she could get to this moment. Too many years wasted for a mistake. But it didn't matter now. Today, Ada is surrounded by love and joy and only the brightest of horizons.

And, there, at the opposite end of the aisle, he stands as short as and even more handsome than she ever remembers him. There is a swell in the music as it approaches the end of this march, and her eyes meet his, even though he has been watching her all along. For that moment, for every moment thereafter, for so many moments before, Ada only has eyes for Jacob.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

_**I realize these time shifts in some recent chapters of** _ **After Dark** _**may not be everyone's cup of tea, that perhaps they aren't what you read** _ **After Dark** _**for or perhaps you find them too jarring or confusing. And that's okay; I respect your opinion and can understand it. I did consider these factors and others when I debated within myself about whether or not that was the direction that** _ **After Dark** _**should go. It could very well prove to be a mistake in the end, but, ultimately, it's the way I want to tell my story; not just to recount Ada's story but also to tell it out of order, to link the themes to Sheldon and Amy's story. Never fear, yes, you will eventually get all the details about Ada and what happened to Dylan and how she ended up with Jacob. Until then . . .** _


	112. Year Eight

. . .

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Eight**

* * *

"Sometimes," Amy said even as she opened the door to their home, "I think that we take advantage of them too much, because they're just two floors down. But then when I drop Ada off, I see how excited Raj is, all these plans he has made for them to make Valentine's cookies before Stuart gets home, and I don't feel guilty anymore. Do you think that's bad?"

Sheldon, sitting in his spot on the sofa, Belle already curled up on his lap, the movie no doubt queued up and ready to watch, tilted his head. "You feel guilty about not feeling guilty about making Raj and Stuart happy?"

"Well, when you put it that way . . . You're right, they're crazy about her." Amy shook her head and walked toward him.

"That's because they have good taste in children."

Amy chuckled and look down at the coffee table. Not that she could have missed it, the giant number eight composed of yellow Post-It notes upon its surface. The ones she expected were there, of course, scattered between the extra blank sheets needed to compose the large digit.

"I love you more than Ada Lovelace loved mathematics."  
"I love you more than the little mermaid thought she loved her prince."  
"I love you more than I hated  _Five Quarters of the Orange_."  
"I love you more than the unnamed Japanese protagonists loved their guest cat."  
"I love you more than Bagger Vance loved giving a lecture."  
"I love you more than Andrew loved humanity."

Smiling broadly, Amy said, "These are getting more verbose every year."

"We need to pick simpler books."

"Why the extra pieces? Just to make a large eight?" she asked, finally sitting down next to him on the sofa, and she reached over to scratch Belle's outstretched chin.

"Ah, look!" Sheldon leaned forward with eagerness. "It's no longer just the numeral eight. It's even grander and more important from this angle."

Looking again, Amy said, "The infinity symbol?"

"Yes, the lemniscate. Obviously. What the number eight looks like when you turn it on its side."

"Okay, so that's fun and interesting, but why do I feel like I'm missing something?" Amy turned toward him and wrinkled her brow.

"Don't you think it's interesting that society puts a lot of emphasis on various other anniversaries - first, twenty-fifth, fiftieth - when, in reality, we could all just stop counting at number eight because it also represents infinity?" he asked.

She sucked in her breath and stopped the first thought that came to her mind from coming out of her mouth. Loving Sheldon meant knowing that things that seemed perfectly obvious to him were not necessarily obvious to her. "Can you explain this concept to me further? Because," she swallowed, "I would like to think the you are not saying that after this year you never want to celebrate our anniversary or . . . this day ever again?" Finally an exhale.

"No! Amy, no!" Sheldon reached for her hand. "That's not what I meant at all. I love celebrating with you, and we can do it for, well -" he waved his free hand "- infinity if you want. I'm just saying that this year is the recognition of that infinity. We're forged together now, our lives forming an endless loop. Isn't that far more important and exciting than bronze or linens?"

Amy smiled and squeezed his hand. Why had her subconscious ever leapt to a false conclusion and doubted that something sweet and romantic was lurking behind this little gesture? He may be using science and math as his excuse, but it was just that - an excuse - to find another way to reveal his sentimental soul.

"That's lovely. But we gave up on the traditional anniversary gifts years ago. And I, for one, believed that we've been forged together for at least eight years already. Our infinity started ages ago," she said.

Sheldon paused and then nodded. "Yes, of course, you're correct. I'm sorry, it was just a silly little idea." He reached forward to pull the extra notes off the coffee table.

"No!" Amy reached out and stopped his hands. "Leave them. I love the idea, Sheldon. There's no one else in this world I'd rather be forged with, whether it was eight years ago or today. Or even beyond infinity."

He sat back with small smile. "You do know that's impossible, right? Technically, as infinity never ends, it's impossible to go beyond it no matter what Buzz Lightyear told billions of impressionable children."

"I love you, Sheldon. So much." Amy leaned forward and kissed him. "Shall we watch the movie?"

"I'd love to." Just a pause and then he said, louder, "Computer, play movie." Three quick chimes of acknowledgement and  _About Time_  started. Amy wrapped her arms around Sheldon's and pulled her feet up to curl up and lean into him.

Although she always enjoyed this movie and especially it's meaning for them as a couple, Amy had already seen it at least seven times so she let her mind wonder. She turned her head to watch Sheldon watching the movie. If he noticed, he didn't respond. It was a such a small thing, really, watching this movie with him. Just as those Post-It's aligned on the coffee table were small objects arranged with a small action. And, yet, all these objects and actions and rituals meant far more than infinity to her. Just as Sheldon did. Still, after all these years, she loved watching him: the way he stood at his whiteboard, the way he moved his hands with flourish when he had an idea, the controlled way he moved about their home and through her life.

It wasn't just that he was handsome, although he certainly was. She loved how everything was so planned with care; he'd probably had the idea for the Post-It notes for months. She loved the way he talked, the cadence of his words, especially when he was making a point that he felt others had gotten wrong. She knew they had both changed and perhaps grown and matured with time - certainly, motherhood had been a huge wake-up call to her - but she loved seeing flashes of the man she had fallen in love with, despite all his faults at the time. They had had so many silly games and plans then, like starting rumors as an experiment. Some had survived with less frequency, like Counterfactuals, but some had fallen victim to time and a child and, at least for her currently, a busier career. She wondered if Sheldon missed any of those things, too. Even though the result had been far less than ideal, his enthusiasm for the mini golf field trip had been a joy to watch and get caught up in herself. Was that sign that he missed his little projects?

"Sheldon?"

"Hmmm?" He turned. "Do you want me to stop it?"

"No, it's fine." She shook her head. "I was just wondering, why don't you do  _Fun with Flags_  anymore?"

His brows dipped behind his glasses. "What unusual timing for such a question. Well, as I'm sure you recall, we lost all the props and supplies in the fire and then Ada was born and . . ." He sighed. "I guess time just got away from us. We had to focus on Ada during all our free time for so long, and now your study is so important . . . " A shrug. "All our viewers have probably forgotten about it, anyway."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes. But newer, better things have taken it's place, maybe."

"Maybe." Amy smiled. "Ada might be getting old enough that you could perhaps entice her to join you, if you want."

Sheldon tilted his head. "Are you saying you miss it? That you'd like to start it up again?"

"I don't know. It was just a thought. Maybe if you and Ada planned it and organized it all, I'd enjoy being a part of it again." Amy reached down to pet Belle's head again. She really didn't know why she's brought it up. But it  _had_ been so much fun.

"No, if we do it again, it should be just you and me," Sheldon said.

Amy looked up in surprise. "Really? Why?"

"It's our thing. Like Book Club." He paused. "But it's okay if it doesn't interest you anymore. As I said, no one is likely remember the show or the man behind it. Some things don't last for eternity."

Smiling softly, Amy nodded. There was the older, wiser, more mature, more pragmatic Sheldon. And he was probably correct. She snuggled up against him, and he moved his arm to go around her and pull her in closer. Yes, this was the bond that was forged to last forever, and maybe that's the only one that mattered.

* * *

It wasn't like her. In fact, it was so out of character for her that he was forced to ask if she was ill or if she had objections to the restaurant he'd suggested despite her previous agreement to calling and making the reservation herself.

"No, Sheldon, it's fine," she'd huffed, pulling up one leg of her stockings with, he thought, unusual slowness. "I just got behind. I got distracted with Ada, talking to her about my clothes."

It had become a treat for Ada, on evenings that Amy was dressing up for Date Nights, that she would be allowed into their bedroom to look at Amy's clothes and watch her put on her make-up and do her hair. Ada's obsession with clothes showed no signs of lessening, and, although there was no way she was wearing make-up until she was at least twenty, she loved touching all the little tubes and pots and bottles and hearing Amy tell her about them.

However, this evening, Amy had no clothes on yet, so he didn't understand from where all the distraction had come. Not to mention she'd never been distracted enough to be late before. "Really, just go ahead and take Ada to Penny's, and I promise I'll be ready when you get back."

"Amy, that's a waste of time -"

"Please, Sheldon, they're expecting her at a certain time."

There was something in her tone that told him that no matter how illogical and confusing the plan was, it was the new plan she had made and he would be following it. And he really didn't want to have a tiff with her tonight, their anniversary night. "Very well," he said, turning out of the bedroom and calling for Ada.

Later - much too much later, in Sheldon's opinion - Sheldon unlocked the door their condominium again, shaking his head at the absurdity of the wasted trip and resulting loss of time. And confusion as to what had caused the complete lapse in Amy's normally punctual nature. Now they would have to rush to make the reservation Amy had made for them, and he could already feel his fingernails digging into the dashboard of Amy's car as she drove at faster than normal speeds across town.  _What a fine anniversary this is turning out to be_ , he sighed privately as the door swung open -

\- and sucked his breath in surprise. Their home was unusually dark, lit only by candles on the coffee table and end table and surrounding the television. The smell of freshly popped popcorn filled the air and made his stomach growl. As his pupils adjusted to the dim light, he could make out boxes of Red Vines and what appeared to be slushies setting on the coffee table. And sitting there on the sofa, serene and beautiful and fully dressed, was his wife.

"Amy!" he called, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. "What is all this? What's going on? We have a dinner reservation that we're almost late for!"

"I never made the reservation," Amy answered cooly and then he saw the corners of her lips turn up into her smirk.

"You never . . ." He didn't even finish and he took a step forward.

"While you were taking Ada to Penny's, I drove to the convenience store and got your favorite cherry flavor slushie, and it's still ice cold."

"Ice cold slushie . . ." He took another step closer to her.

"And there's Red Vines and fresh popcorn with real melted butter on it."

"Melted butter . . ." Closer he walked.

Amy's smirk changed into a very broad smile. "We're staying in, Sheldon, and watching a movie. It was my plan all along. It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises," he said without thought or conviction.

"Yes, you do, at least when they're happy. And I think - hope - you'll enjoy this movie very much. Now shut the door and come join me." She patted the sofa next to her.

Nodding, Sheldon turned to shut the door he's left hanging open in his confusion and then he padded over next to her and sat down in his spot. "What are we watching? Oh, did you get an advanced screening copy of  _Star Wars: The Legend of Yoda_?"

Dipping her chin to give him a look out of the top of her glasses, Amy said, "I'm your wife, not a miracle worker."

"Bootleg copy? I normally don't condone any criminal activity, but getting the new  _Star Wars_  movie a month in advance might be an exception I'd make."

A chuckle. "No." A pause as she bit the edge of her lip. "However, tonight is the world premiere of _this_ particular movie."

Sheldon studied her closely. She was happy, yes, but proud, too, he could tell. Of this whole little scheme or something about the movie? And he thought maybe just a little nervous based on the lip biting. So much mystery tonight.

"So," she took a deep breath, "just settle in. Loosen your tie, relax. Do you want to take off your jacket?"

Sheldon shook his head, but he did reach up to loosen the knot in his tie.

"I'll set your slushie right here in front of you, and I thought we could put the popcorn between us. Tell me when you're ready, and I'll pass you the Red Vines."

"I still don't understand. We can do a movie any night of year. And why the candles?"

"Shhh, Sheldon. Just watch." Then, louder, "Computer, play Amy's video 'Life.'"

_Life? What does that mean?_ Before he could ask, the screen came alive. There, in the very center of their sofa, sat Amy. Not dressed up as she was this evening, but she was smiling in her regular clothes. Sheldon couldn't help but be mesmerized.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler. Please join me this evening for a very special edition of " - the camera panned out ( _So someone else had assisted her! Raj? Penny?_ ) and television-Amy spread her arms toward a poster board setting next to her, in Sheldon's spot "-  _Fun With Flags_. Tonight's topic is 'Sheldon Cooper, This is Your Life!'"

Over the fake applause of the sound track, Sheldon whispered, "Amy . . . "

"Watch," she whispered back, and he heard her crunch on some popcorn.

" _Fun with Flags_ , the brain child of the brilliant Dr. Sheldon Cooper, first premiered on Thursday, January 26, 2012. This," the television-Amy continued holding up a flag, "is the state flag of Oregon. It was the first flag that appeared on this esteemed webcast. Do you know it's the only two-sided state flag?"

"I did!" Sheldon called and Amy laughed next to him.

"However," television-Amy turned serious and put the flag down, "I think the fun facts that all our viewers really want to know is about the cutie in front of the camera, the wolf of vexillology, the heraldist of our hearts, and my own personal paramour of pennants, Dr. Cooper himself. So, in this very special episode, I will reveal all that makes him more special to me than another other person in the universe."

Sheldon took a sharp breath.

"Here," television-Amy reached forward and then back up again, holding a red, white, and blue flag, "is the state flag of Texas, where Sheldon was born. Did you know that Texas is called the Lone Star State because the official name for this flag is The Lone Star Flag? Also, the lone star was originally used to signify independence from Mexico. One of Sheldon's childhood accomplishments was -" the flag was switched to one with bowling ball rolling over bottles of beer "- to co-captain the East Texan Christian Youth Holy Roller Bowling League Championship team.

"At the age of eleven, Sheldon began a major in physics at the University of Houston." Television-Amy switched out to a white flag with a red crest of two animals in the center. "Fun fact, the official mascot for the University of Houston is a cougar named Shasta, but there are two greyhounds on their seal to indicate speed. The school motto is 'In Time,' as in 'in time, perhaps this level of incongruity will make sense.'"

He was so engrossed it took him a second before his laugh came in short, breathy bursts. "Well said, dear Amy!"

The video continued. "However, even the largest state in the contiguous United States couldn't hold all the brain power of our Sheldon, and, after graduating  _summa cum laude_  with his degree in physics from the University of Houston and starting his first doctorate there, he traveled to Heidelberg, Germany to serve as guest professor at the Heidelberg Institute, affiliated with the Heidelberg University." Two flags went up, one in each hand. "The official German flag is considered black, red, and gold, not yellow. In November 1959, the Federal Court of Justice ruled that the use of the color yellow, instead of gold, had gained too much significance during the years of Nazi rule to be used in the national flag, and the use of yellow was ruled an offense." Television-Amy swirled her head toward the black symbol in a field of white. "The Great University Seal for the University of Heidelberg, however, dates from the original commission of the university in 1386. The central figure is that of Saint Peter and the two kneeling figures are believed to be Ruprecht I and his nephew Ruprecht II.

"After obtaining both his first doctorate and the Stevenson Award by the age of sixteen, Sheldon traveled to the great state of California." A flutter of mostly white with some red and brown. "The state flag of California was adopted in 1911 and features a California grizzly bear. Fun fact, one of the early precursors of the bear flag was designed by William L. Todd, a cousin of Mary Todd Lincoln." Television-Amy shifted. "This orange flag with two hands holding up a torch is not, in fact, from the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angles, but rather it's the official seal for the California Institute of Technology. Fun fact, even though Caltech has a multi-page website explaining how to properly use the seal, the history of the seal is never explained." Television-Amy shrugged and tossed the offending orange flag over her shoulder.

"Even though he obtained his second doctorate at Caltech, the powers that be recognized his greatness and offered him a job as a theoretical physicist, even though most academic institutions don't hire their own graduate students."

Television-Amy seemed to morph slightly, and Sheldon wondered if she was actually flushing or if they needed a new television until he noticed the woman on his screen smiled softly and ran her hands down her skirt. "On Monday, May 24, 2010, I experienced the life-changing moment of meeting Dr. Sheldon Cooper."

Sheldon heard the real Amy sitting next to him, watching this movie she had made for him, sigh softly. He reached over, above the popcorn bowl that he still had not touched, and took her hand, smiling as she squeezed back.

"At the time, I was working at the University of California, Los Angles. Here's their seal and flag. Yes, that's an open book. How original for a institute of higher learning, I'm sure it took months to come up with that symbolism." A hiccup of pleasure escaped Sheldon's lips. "A year and half later, this brilliant man introduced me to the joys of vexillology, when _Fun with Flag_ was born. What even our most faithful viewers may not have noticed was that, off screen, Dr. Cooper and I were falling madly in love. One of us fell a bit faster and the other fell so slowly it was as though he weighed less than a sheet a paper, but it was falling in love nonetheless. And, one magical evening in Napa County, California -" up went a flag with a cluster of purple grapes "- we shared the most amazing kiss that changed everything. However, despite this momentous occasion, I still can't get Sheldon to watch  _A Walk in the Clouds_ with me."

A slight grumble came from real Amy next to him, and Sheldon turned his head ever so slightly, no wanting to miss a second on the screen. After this, he doubted he would have a choice about watching some cheesy mid-nineties romantic movie with Amy again. More importantly, at this exact second, he couldn't wait to watch every movie she wanted for the rest of his life as long as she was by his side, holding his hand.

"Now, this is isn't a real flag or even a real seal," television-Amy said, holding up a cream flag with an illustration of dragon anatomy, "but this is the cover to  _A Natural History of Dragons_ , the first book we ever read together as part of the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation, which is still in existence to this day. Now this navy and yellow beauty -" a flash of fabric "- is the official flag for the city of Pasadena, California. It was in this city, where we both live, that on Halloween evening of 2014, that we declared our love for each other. I'm not even going to put this flag down because just three and half months later, a few short blocks from our apartment, we got married in this city's gorgeous City Hall. There are three great days in my life: the day I met Sheldon, the day I married Sheldon, and this day -" a flutter on the screen until there was a pale square emblem comprised of two letter H's "- the day I made Sheldon a father at our local Huntington Hospital.

"There have been other flags in our life, from happy to sad, but this last one is very special. And you, dear viewer, are the first to see it. I may not be Betsy Ross, but I have to say I'm inordinately proud of my creation." Television-Amy picked up and unfurled a large flag, mostly white with a large black lemniscate in the middle, surrounded by what appeared to be red words. "If you can't read it at home, it states, 'In our family, we are accustomed to glory.' That's a quote from another famous physicist, Irene Joliet-Curie. Sheldon once asked me to cross stitch it on a pillow with a new family crest. Well, Sheldon, it may not be needle work, but I hope this thermal transfer doesn't disappoint you."

Then television-Amy's eyelashes batted a few times and her voice lowered in that range it often did when she was trying not to cry. "On this day, at the edge of our infinity, even though I know you will tell me that infinity has no edges just as it has no beginning or end, I want you to know that the greatest glory of my life has been and always shall be sharing it with you."

It ended with a soft, loving, and satisfied smile before the screen faded to black.

Sheldon had rarely been in the position of being speechless before, and he'd certainly never admitted to it when it did happen. But sitting there, still holding her hand, the popcorn and slushie and Red Vines forgotten, staring at the blank television screen, he was speechless. Amy - his delightful, beautiful, forever surprising Amy - had created this for him. And he didn't know when or how she'd found the time to sneak away. The most logical solution was she'd left work and filmed it during the day some day in the past week, all without his knowledge. And what a surprise it had been! It was everything he loved about her: her sarcasm, her smiles and smirks, her sentimentality, her memory. But mostly her love for him. Sheldon felt like he was bathed in some sort of warm, soft glow of true contentment.

Finally, he turned his face toward her expectant one, still uncertain of what to say to her. There were not words for the way his entire chest was filled with this gentle and beautiful ache. "Amy, I . . .," he started and faltered.

"Here," Amy said softly, pulling her hand away and slipping it behind one of the throw pillows to pull out the same flag with which she'd ended her program. "You can hang it wherever you like. If you really want it as a pillow, I have more fabric to do so."

As he reached for the crisp white flag, the beautiful flag Amy had made for him, Sheldon felt something alarmingly like a tear prickle at the corner of his eye. "I . . ."

"It's okay, Sheldon," Amy said softly. "You don't have to say anything. Your silence tells me everything I need to know."

He nodded, tracing the red words with his thumb. Amy always knew, Amy had always known. Amy. She was infinity to him, a place without beginning or ending, a place he forever belonged. "The greatest glory of my life has been and always shall be sharing it with you, too," he whispered. Then he looked up sharply. "Did you really post this online?"

Amy shook her head. "No. It's a gift for you to do with as you please. If you want to post it, I don't object."

No. He wouldn't post it. He would save it on the cloud, his own private copy and when he felt the weight of the world more acutely or he found himself missing her while she was at a conference or even just some random morning at work, even the other side of campus being too far away from her, he'd watch it again.

"All I got you was my usual photo album," he admitted.

She reached out and gently touched his hand. "I love those photo albums. It's always the perfect gift."

Stretching forward, he carefully placed the new flag on the coffee table, before reaching back to take the bowl of uneaten popcorn to set next to it. Then he turned and put both of his hands on Amy's cheeks and looked deeply into those same emerald green eyes that had mesmerized him almost from the very beginning. No, there was no beginning with Amy.

"I didn't mean it, Amy. Or, rather, I had not fully considered the connotations and consequences of my statement. I want to celebrate every single year. I know that logic and mathematics tells us there is no way to enumerate infinity, but I want to die trying with you."

"Oh, Sheldon." His words had the effect of making her blush slightly and give that little bat of her eyelashes that Sheldon especially loved. "Our love will never die," she whispered.

"Never. To infinity and beyond."

Then there was the little chuckle in the midst of a happy tear that he so loved, and he leaned forward to gently kiss her lips. "Come to bed with me," he whispered.

In their bedroom, they gently peeled off each other clothes, brushing each other's skin softly, smoothing at first, taking their time to memorize it all over again. Sheldon whispered softly, into all her curves and valleys, "I love you and you give me tranquility and I love you and you challenge me to think harder and I never thought love could feel this good and you make me stronger and braver."

And Amy, his dear, perfect Amy for infinity, hushed back into his angles and plains, "You think you are only the right side of the brain, but I know you are also the left side of mine. You are always exactly who are you. You make me laugh, you make me happy, you make me angry. You make me braver and stronger."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	113. The Thinking Engine

**_Note the date! The times, they are a-changin' . . ._ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2026**

**Primary Topic: _Sherlock Holmes: The Thinking Engine_ by James Lovegrove**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage_  by Sydney Padua,  _Star Wars: A New Hope - The Princess, the Scoundrel, and the Farm Boy_  by Alexandra Bracken, the  _Anne of Green Gables_  series by L. M. Montgomery,  _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_  by J. K. Rowling,  _The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana_  by Vatsyayana (translated by Richard Burton), and  _Pride and Prejudice_  by Jane Austen**

* * *

There were no unnecessary pauses, no hesitations, no stumbles. The words flowed smoothly and surely. It was the voice of confidence. Although it was still the higher pitched voice of a child, at times Sheldon thought he could detect hints of the deeper timbre that her mother possessed. He wanted to tilt his head down, so it was resting on hers, to relish the sound of her voice as she finished reading the chapter to him, but he knew from experience that would only cause her to halt, roll her eyes, and say, "Stop it, Dad. That's weird." So he contented himself in the knowledge that even though he obviously wouldn't ever get a mini-Amy to look at in adoration, he just might get another matching voice to soothe his soul.

Gone were the days of their cuddles, although the reading before bed ritual had remained unchanged. Some details were different - Ada took turns, reading aloud - but he still found himself sitting next to her on her bed every other evening at eight for a chapter or two of the latest book. Eight o'clock wasn't even her bedtime anymore, not officially, but Ada preferred to be in bed by then, herself, if possible, and she would sit and read either until she feel asleep or, if the book was especially suspenseful, until one of her parents looked in before they went to bed and said firmly, "Lights out, Ada. Go to sleep."

Sheldon looked down over her shoulder, past her still-damp hair, as the end of the chapter rapidly approached. It was, he knew, a magical time. His little girl, only eight years old but so poised for her age, obviously so intelligent, mature enough to interact with and have important conversations with, but still young enough to smile and laugh and play games with him. Sometimes, sitting at the dining table, pouring over her homework ("Go away, Dad! I don't need your help!"), she looked so old, and he could feel her tugging away from them. But then, not much later, she would cheer and run across the room, racing to beat him to whatever scheme he plotted for their next adventure ("Last one there is a rotten egg!"). For now, she was still excited for their once monthly trips to Stuart's store to stock up on their favorite comic books followed by a secret stop at McDonald's. For now, he was still both her hero and her playmate. The attitude and skepticism of the tween years were yet upon them. But he saw them coming: her classmates were older and their verbal impertinence was bound to start rubbing off on her soon. There were already hints of it.

For now, he had the sense he was living in the last few moments of a golden hour of fatherhood. The only thing better was looking over at Amy at those heart-expanding times and sharing a smile with her. It always reminded him of that scene at the end of  _The Theory of Everything_ : "Look at what we made."

"Dad, will you do my hair like Princess Leia's for school tomorrow?" Ada said as she closed her iKindle.

"Oh, um, I'm afraid not." Sheldon looked down into her blue eyes surrounded by her bright purple glasses frames, surprised to find the end of the chapter had slipped away from him, unheard in his reverie. "I'm not a coiffeur like your mother. It's regular braids and pony tales until she returns."

"It's just two regular braids and you twist them around like a cinnamon roll. An Archimedean spiral," Ada said pointedly.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Well, I guess when you explain that way . . . Very well, we'll try it together."

Ada nodded and then sighed. "Why does she have to leave so much?"

He didn't even have to ask to whom she was referring, because his logic fought that question every day that she was gone. "It's part of her job, you know that. Your mother has made a very important discovery with profound practical implications for the world of neuro-ophthalmology. She has to go out and tell people about it, spread the knowledge, explain her work. And then others will attempt to replicate her work. If it can repeated and confirmed, which I'm sure it can be, then her success and fame will be assured," Sheldon explained. "Her absence is only greater this first year because her final findings were just published. Then the work will fall to others and she'll start another study." He paused and added, softly, "But, yes, I don't like her being gone so much, either." Then more upbeat: "Don't forget we're going with her to London in June. That'll be fun."

"Someday will you make a discovery and have to go away a lot, too?"

"Maybe," he mumbled. Then he remembered to whom he was speaking. "But even when I do, I won't want to be gone from you and Mom, any more than your mother does from us now. Speaking of which, I need to leave soon to call her. We have an appointed time as it's Book Club Night." They had already talked, of course; there were numerous texts during the day and the usual post-school FaceTime with Ada earlier.

" _The Thinking Engine_?" Ada asked.

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "Why, yes. How did you know?"

"When I read it, I could tell you were reading it, too. It kept telling me where you were." Ada shrugged.

"Wait, you read  _The Thinking Engine_?"

"It's on the family cloud, Dad. I just downloaded it. Duh."

"Ada!" Sheldon used his firm voice. "Why are you not allowed to use that word?"

"Because it's disrespectful to my elders," Ada mumbled, looking away. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted." Sheldon took a breath. "Did you like it? The book?"

"It was okay. There were words I had to look up, and that was exciting." Ada looked back up. "Don't worry, I added them to my vocabulary list."

"Because your iKindle does that automatically." _Duh,_  Sheldon stopped himself from adding. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this revelation. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Advanced reading, more vocabulary words: good. This particular story, that included references to domestic violence, murder, and drug use: probably bad for an eight-year-old, no matter her reading level and intelligence. Not to mention that gory finale battle. "Did you finish it?"

"No. It was confusing," Ada confessed. "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? Because you were confused?" Sheldon was familiar with that concept. Confusion always caused regret in his mind.

"No. Mom says admitting confusion is a sign of intelligence. I'm sorry because you don't like it when I leave things unfinished."

"Oh." Dipping his eyebrows, Sheldon thought, trying to imagine what wise words Amy would have in this situation. "Well, it depends on what you've left unfinished. I think, when it comes to a book you're not reading for a school assignment, it's acceptable to leave it uncompleted if it confuses you. But, in that case, I think you should then ask your mother or I about it, so we can discuss it. Your mother excels at explaining difficult books." He reached down to take her little hand, which she would still usually allow, provided there were none of her friends around. Ada squeezed back with her smaller fingers. "Was there something in your reading that you did like?"

"I liked it when the guy that made the machine made it talk like Siri. And is a telegraph like the Internet? Like the old Internet, before WiFi? He said the machines would talk to each other with wires."

"Yes, I suppose in the most simplistic terms the telegraph is a precursor of the Internet." Sheldon smiled, pleased that she had focused on the scientific aspects of the novel and not the worrisome adult plot points.

"But I didn't like that Watson kept calling it Babbage's machine. Ada Lovelace helped, too!" His daughter pulled her hand away to cross her arms.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. He wasn't surprised that his Ada knew who Ada Lovelace was - they had given her a virtual copy of _The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage_  for her birthday a couple of years ago, and his Ada loved it - but rather by the force of her opinion.

"You do know that the stories in your graphic novel aren't real, correct? It was Babbage who built the machine. Lovelace invented the binary code for a secondary hypothetical machine that was never built," Sheldon explained.

"I know what's real and what isn't! But this machine was supposed to be that machine, Ada's machine, but bigger and smarter!" Ada protested, a little furrow appearing between her thin eyebrows.

Biting his lip, Sheldon nodded. Few things thrilled him more than when he saw Amy's indignation coming out in their daughter. "That is an excellent argument, Ada." An idea sparked in his head. "Would you like to join us for Book Club this evening? Since you've read part of the book, too?"

He waited for her to wiggle excitedly, to be thrilled at this rare inclusion into one of the private rituals of her parents. It had happened a couple of times before because they were all together somewhere, and she usually leapt to get to do this adult and special event with them

"No."

"No!"

Ada screwed up her face. "You just ending up kissing and it's gross."

"What?" Sheldon's heart stopped. Was it possible - No, surely not, one of them always checked to make sure Ada was in bed, usually sound asleep, before they firmly shut their heavy door behind them to enjoy what had become the second ritual of Book Club. "What do you mean, we end up kissing?"

"You do. You say you hate the book or it's illogical and Mom laughs and kisses you and then she says she loves it and why she loves it and you decide she's right and then you kiss her back. Too much kissing. It's gross."

He let out a big breath of relief. Just kissing, apparently. "We can't kiss tonight. It's FaceTime."

Shaking her head, Ada said, "Then you look like you want to kiss but you can't and it's more gross! It's like you're kissing with your minds or something. Weird and gross!"

Before he could inquire about what, exactly, Ada thought kissing with your mind was - and explain that was strictly forbidden to her for another twenty years or so - his phone chimed. "That will be your mother."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and accepted the FaceTime call, grinning broadly as Amy's face popped on the screen. Two more days and she'd be back! Even though he and Ada got along well in her absence, he missed his helper, his wife more than he could say. "Hello, Amy!"

"Hi, Mom."

"Good evening! Am I interrupting reading time?" Amy smiled on the screen.

"No, we finished. We were just, um, chatting," Sheldon explained.

While it was true that Amy had a far superior poker face than he did, Sheldon still noticed the slightest quiver of her eyebrows. Oh, well, there was no way he wasn't going to tell her everything, anyway.

"I see," she said. Translation: I can't wait for you to tell me everything later, Sheldon. "Did you finish your book yet? Which one are you two reading again? The  _Star Wars_  one?"

That was a change to bedtime reading, too. Now Amy and Ada read one book, while Ada and Sheldon read another. That way no one missed any part of the story. It also gave Ada a broader base, as they usually picked different categories. Right now, she and Amy were gobbling their way through all the  _Anne of Green Gables_  books at an alarming rate of speed.

"No. We'll finish tomorrow," Ada said. "And then I want to read Harry Potter."

"Excellent choice, kiddo," Sheldon said, looking down at her, even as he still held his phone in front of them. "Now say goodnight to your mother."

"Goodnight, Mom!" Ada blew a kiss, as had been her habit since a certain FaceTime call years ago.

"Goodnight, sweetheart!" Amy blew one back. "I love you."

"Can I call you back in just a second? From the other room?" Sheldon asked Amy.

"Of course. I'll be waiting. Bye!" Her face disappeared from the screen.

Sheldon lowered the phone, got up, kissed Ada on the forehead with his own wishes for sweet dreams, confirmed that Belle was content to stretch out at her feet, and shut Ada's bedroom behind him as he left. After he had gone down the hall and across the great room, he shook his mouse to wake his computer even before sitting down at his desk. The screen brightened, his desktop a photograph of he and Amy flanking Ada as she held her science fair first place trophy. He couldn't help but grin at it as he instructed Siri to call Amy.

As expected, Amy was waiting for him. "Are you having fun with Ada? Is she behaving?"

"She's behaving. Generally. We argued last night. There was whining about her chore chart again and then she started rolling her eyes and having that attitude, and you know I just cannot deal with whining and eye-rolling. Which somehow morphed into a fight about why she cannot have her own iPhone yet. I sent her to her room. Which meant I had to empty the dishwasher and feed Belle myself, after all. And I'm now convinced sending her to her room with her book and her cat isn't even a punishment to her anymore." Sheldon shook his head. Nothing about it had been fun, and the only slightly . . . interesting thing about it was how much Ada had reminded him of Amy, with her hands on her hips and that little line between her eyebrows.

"Sound like fun."

"No, it was - oh, sarcasm." Amy smiled. "Otherwise, though, she's been well-behaved. We're having an enjoyable time. But we'd be having more fun if you were here," Sheldon said.

"I miss you guys, too. But the only thing on my schedule after this is that trip to Berkley - I'll be gone just one night - and then London, when we'll all be together and taking a vacation. That's it; then I'm done, I promise," Amy said.

"I'll admit I'm looking forward to that in spite of the flight," Sheldon smiled. There was no doubt he would have preferred Amy to be home, even though he understand the necessity of her absence. Plus he was so very proud of her. However, he always looked forward to their video chats. It reminded him of the early days of their relationship, back when he was still denying they had a relationship. Here they were, years later, spouses and parents, and yet they were still the same, too. Amy was still the same wonderful conversationalist he had enjoyed so much then.

"So, do tell." She didn't even have to explain what she meant.

"Apparently we need to look into the parental control options on our cloud family library. Ada has been downloading our books and reading them. She, too, tried to read  _The Thinking Engine_  this month," Sheldon explained. "I'll do it; it's my fault, I set up her iKindle so she couldn't buy apps or go online, just read, but I never thought about our family library settings. Although I'll need your judgement on the books you've read and I haven't."

Amy's brow was furrowed. "Of course. I agree many of our novels have themes and events that are too mature for her. But at least it's not like we read anything pornographic."

"Yes, thankfully your little M-rated _Pride and Prejudice_  fanfiction reading habit is housed on another website."

"Sheldon! What M-rated fanfiction?" Sheldon raised an eyebrow in a disbelieving fashion. Amy huffed. "And it's not a habit! I can stop reading anytime I want." She looked down. "I only read sometimes when I travel. And I always imagine you . . . "

"Well, of course you do. I'm much better looking than that Darcy fellow." Amy did that little head shake, small eye roll combination he loved. "Besides, I'm the only one you kiss with your mind."

"Kiss with my mind?"

Sheldon shared the story verbatim with his wife. They were both laughing at the end. "Do you think our Book Clubs really follow such an obvious pattern?" Amy asked.

"Not at all. She's only witnessed three of them," Sheldon said. Then he tilted his head. "Although, maybe the kissing part is true. I do wish you were here to kiss right now."

On the screen, Amy blushed and fluttered her eyelashes. Two more things Sheldon loved and missed about her. "So, Book Club, then?" she said.

"First, did you get that email from the school about extracurricular foreign language lessons next year?" Amy nodded. "Ada told me about it at dinner, too. She's very excited, she wants to do it. I haven't said anything to her yet, but if it meets three afternoons a week that will interfere with her piano lessons." He stopped and took a breath.

"Could we reschedule her piano lessons? That's just once a week," Amy suggested.

"I suppose so. I - I -" Sheldon licked his lips. "It pains me to say this, but I spent another excruciating hour yesterday listening to her piano lesson. I fear our little genius is not a musical genius," he admitted.

Amy chuckled. "I know! I don't know how the musical gene skipped her, but she can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"I've even tried explaining it as a math problem, and then she asked me if I could draw it geometrically!" Sheldon hung his head and shook it.

"So, what are you saying, Sheldon?" Amy prompted.

"I think we should let her stop piano lessons if she likes. Again, I haven't said anything to her. But it's clear she doesn't enjoy them, and her skill is minimal even after three years. In addition, I know you are worried about over-scheduling her."

"I agree. Let her have the choice, of course, but she can stop piano lessons and pick up another language if she prefers. Are there several options?"

Sheldon sighed. "She wants to do Japanese."

His wife's brow furrowed slightly. "Why is that bad?"

"Because she should either be taking advanced Spanish or starting Mandarin, they are far more practical. I would even settle for German, given the strong scientific history. She could read Einstein in his native language!"

"Why does she want to learn Japanese, did she say?"

Another sigh. "She said it looks pretty, that it's like drawing with words."

Amy smiled. "I think that's as good a reason as any. The Japanese have a distinct and beautiful visual aesthetic. Let her take Japanese if she wants."

Pursing his lips, Sheldon looked at his wife for a moment as she managed to hold his gaze. "What is the probability I am going to win a disagreement about this?"

Amy screwed up her lips. "Oh, I'd estimate 2.1%."

He made a little fluttering motion with his hand. "Okay, Japanese it is. Do you want me to tell her tomorrow or should we save it until you return? We don't have to sign up until next week."

"You can. She'll be so excited, I think. She's always had an aptitude for languages. Spanish is one of her favorite classes." Amy leaned closer to the screen and smiled. "There's plenty of time for other languages, Sheldon."

"Do you ever think that sometimes there isn't?"

Sitting back again, Amy's eyebrows dipped. "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, Sheldon said, "I don't know. Something about her reading tonight. She's so serious sometimes. And her voice is getting deeper. I can see it now: there's so little time for toys and games and then we'll have a teenager and then . . . "

"Aww, my sentimental old fool." Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Take her out tomorrow evening and do something crazy and silly and young. If anyone can uncover another's childish glee, it's you. You've been wanting to try that new laser guided mini golf place."

She was amazing, this woman! She always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up. "What a great idea, Amy! All the major countries of the world are represented, and I could tell her about the Japanese class right by the Tō-ji replica! If I do the math and figure out how to get the lasers to spell it out for me . . ."

Amy laughed. "Although now you've made it sound so appealing I want to be there!"

Sheldon sat back slightly. "So we'll wait until you're home. We'll all go together this weekend."

Amy nodded. "Thank you. Okay, Book Club? It's getting late here, I'll probably need to go to bed soon."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Currently Amy was in Chicago, having traveled to a conference at Northwestern. " _The Thinking Engine._  Your pick."

He didn't have to say what the first question was; they'd been doing this long enough that Amy knew what was expected. "I wanted something lighter because I knew I'd be traveling, and there's all that excitement about Benedict Cumberbatch coming back to do one last  _Sherlock_  movie so it made me think Sherlock Holmes was just the thing. Plus, you love him and it's been awhile since we've read one."

"Why this one?" Sheldon asked. "Only because we've already read the four original novels by Conan Doyle?"

Amy's eyes widened. "Once I read the synopsis, I was sold. Sherlock having to battle a computational device to prove who has the greater ability for analytical thought? It's such a great idea. And it sounded like something you'd enjoy, too."

Sheldon grunted quietly. They had said, years ago, that they wouldn't pick books based on what they thought the other person would like, and yet, somehow, they had never been able to avoid that for long. Sheldon often found himself smiling, while he was making his selection, when he read about a book that he could imagine Amy getting all excited for, the way her eyes would glow and twinkle. Her smile was one of his greatest motivators.

"You were correct, as usual. I thoroughly enjoyed it, until the end. I think the idea was ingenious. I was pleased with the references to both the difference engine and the Mechanical Turk hoax in the 18th-century. You know I can't stand a historical novel that isn't well-researched. And, you'll be interested to know, our little genius also picked up on the references to proto-Siri and a nascent Internet over telegraph wires."

"Yes, I was quite pleased with how grounded in reality the machine seemed. Until the end, as you pointed out. The author, through Watson, did a wonderful job of explaining how wondrous it was to behold it for the first time. We take computers for granted today, but such basic binary machines would have been amazing and shocking at the time." Amy's eyes shifted and her hand raised, and Sheldon could watch her scanning something on the side of her screen. Of course, she would have her Kindle app open. She was always prepared. "Were you impressed with the vocabulary, Sheldon?"

"The vocabulary?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. There were several very unusual rare words used here. Some I haven't seen in ages. I was impressed."

"Hmmm, I suppose so. But I preferred the references to math: 'The first ten prices in order. It's the most elegant and beautiful number sequence there is.'"

Amy smiled. "Ah, I marked that line, too. Because it reminded me so much of you. But, then, Sherlock Holmes always reminds me of you."

"I am both more intelligent and well behaved," Sheldon protested.

His wife chuckled, which he chose to ignore. "Let's just say you've matured nicely." She paused. "I'm not sure you would have liked it, but I liked that the reader got to see the weaker side of Sherlock in this book."

"He wasn't weak! He explained to Watson he only descended into drug use in order to make Watson's reaction genuine," Sheldon pointed out.

"I'm not convinced of that. We're constantly told how clever Sherlock is, what a master of disguise he is, but we're to believe that that he really couldn't fake going to the chemist and buying the laudanum and pretend to be holed up in his room? Seems rather simple to me. He could have just locked the door and read."

"Hhhmmrrppphh." Sheldon wished she'd change the topic. Now that she pointed it out, she was correct, of course. But he, for one, did not like to think of or see those he admired brought low. He shifted in his chair. "But, well, he's only human I suppose."

"Indeed. What did you think -"

"Amy?" Sheldon interrupted. She looked up, surprised. "Do you - do you ever feel that way? Not that you'll start taking drugs, not that. But, well, are you ever afraid that you'll end up being Watson instead of Sherlock?"

"What do you mean?" Amy leaned forward, her eyes intense.

"I mean, what if you end up being the sidekick, not the mastermind?" It came out in a rush.

"Sheldon?"

"Your whole life you think you're destined to change the world and you keep working and waiting and then it - no, nevermind." He shook his head. What ever made him think it was appropriate to bring this up? He was certain it wasn't even appropriate to think it, he was certain it made him less of a man, less worthy of Amy.

Amy's face changed as she obviously picked up her iPad and held it closer until her face filled the entire frame. "Sheldon, listen to me. You  _are_  a mastermind. Never doubt that. Your discovery is coming; if you knew when it would happen, then it wouldn't be an eureka moment. And I promise - I swear from the bottom of my heart - that is not why I picked this book. I had no idea that Watson would play such a pivotal role in the solution, that Watson would have to pick his friend up and dust him off and bring him back to greatness. I was not trying to say anything or send any sort of message about your own work -"

"No, no, Amy, I know you weren't," Sheldon interrupted.

"Let me finish." He saw a spark, something flash across Amy's face. "Listen, Sheldon. Do you remember before we were married and went to San Francisco together and then on the way home you told me that we were like binary stars?"

"Of course. It's what your ring is a reference to."

Those beautiful green eyes drifted down as she glanced at her ring, a soft smile spreading across her face. It was not dissimilar to the private smile Amy sometimes gave herself when Sheldon saw her admiring her ring, even after all these years, when she clearly thought he wasn't watching. It was not dissimilar to the satisfied smile he gave himself when he saw her doing just that.

"My point is," she looked back up, the smile gone, "that binary stars do not exist in stasis. As you mentioned at the time, they trade energy and gravity back and forth. Sometimes one star is primary, sometimes the other. The important thing is that they are forever locked together." She stopped and gazed at him. Even across the miles, across the ether of the Internet, her gaze could still weigh him down, but in a safe, compassionate way like a heavy duvet.

Sheldon licked his lips and whispered. "So you're saying I should be patient and content, that it is your time to shine right now, but that, some day, it will be mine."

"Exactly. But, just as importantly, everyone needs a sidekick. What would I do with out you these past few months? You've been wonderful, so supportive, so capable. You've been home alone with Ada far more than I would wish for any parent, and you've handled it wonderfully. Driving her to school, making her lunches and dinner, keeping her on task, keeping her happy. There is no one else in the world I would want for my Watson. My Watson with a Sherlock lurking behind his skull."

Sheldon smiled at her. How did she do that? Amy always said the right thing, Amy always made it better. "'I have operated under far greater strain than this previously. My powers are up to the task,'" he quoted.

He was rewarded with a smile as Amy lowered iPad again. Would it really be so bad to be her Watson forever? At that moment, basking in her smile, he didn't think that it would. Not that he would allow that to stop him, of course, from digging deeper everyday, to find the treasure that was buried somewhere within his mind, if only he could unlock it. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the secrets of the mind were Amy's purview; hadn't she just released one to the world? Is that what led their paths to cross all those years ago? Was she essential for his life, not just for the pages of reasons he could write about why his existence was better now with her, but because, in some way, she understood his synapses better than anyone else, that she would, in some indirect but vital way, help him chart the path through the cogs and wheels of his own mind? What if it was, his mouth opened slightly,  _fate_?

"Sheldon, are you still with me?" Amy asked, her brow furrowed again.

Shaking his head, he let the idea fall away. "I just had the strangest and most illogical thought."

"Oh, what?" Amy said, relaxing.

"Nothing. Really. Utter rot. I'm concerned I even thought it for a second. It's beneath me. There was a quote in the book about just this type of thing that I especially liked: 'I do not hold with conjecture. Facts are my deities; anything else, heresy.'"

Amy tilted her head, and he wondered if she would allow him to dismiss it so easily. But then she blinked twice, a sure sign she was clearing her mind, and said, "I would be interested to know what you think of Sherlock's comments on marriage. Since he was a confirmed bachelor and you're a married man." He saw her fingers move across her end of the screen, "Here is it: '"Sometimes I envy men like you," he said to us, "unencumbered by martial obligations.'"

With his eidetic memory still intact, Sheldon did not need Amy to read any sentence or passage from a book to him. However, just like with Ada, he enjoyed the smooth, sure sound of her voice. It was disappointing it was only one brief sentence she read, when he was hoping she'd read the entire passage. She was watching him, expectedly, waiting for his answer. "I'm surprised you have to ask," he stated, "because Sherlock answers your question no more than three lines of dialogue later. 'A man who can adequately discharge his professional responsibilities as well as keeping his spouse happy is no less successful.'"

It was the same smile she had given him not that long ago, and it cleared things up tremendously. "Oh, I see now. Very clever, you little vixen."

Amy chuckled. "Enough of that, I think. We haven't talked very much about the mystery. I presume you knew what the general solution would be from the beginning, that the machine was really an instrument of the criminal, pre-loaded in some fashion with the correct responses?"

Sheldon nodded.

"Me, too. But I enjoyed getting there. Given that I was certain what would happen in the end, I was pleased at how suspenseful I found it. How intriguing all the clues were. I also liked how atmospheric it was. It really felt like Oxford. Oh! We should take the train up to Oxford one day while we're in London!" Amy's eyes sparkled. She had, as a senior at Harvard, taken a summer class at Oxford, and Sheldon knew it was one of her favorite places.

"Very well," he said and smiled. Amy grinned back and he knew he had pleased her, still a wonderful feeling. Then he added, "Even though I knew the basic solution to the mystery, I thought it was presented in an overwrought fashion."

"Great word," Amy murmured. "Go on."

"It was too much: who was running the machine and how and in what condition. And the weird relationship and the fighting. I don't have to tell you, you read it," he said.

Amy tilted her head. "I agree. For a book that was so focused on the mental conundrums, it did feel too physically forced and violent. The tone was off. The final solution should have been mental, too."

"Exactly!"

They looked at each other for a moment, and Sheldon felt a tug in his chest. Missing Amy, missing her physical presence for Book Club, missing her help with Ada, missing just being around the house or on little errands with her . . . Yes, he would definitely save the laser-guided-mini-golf-Japanese-lessons-reveal until she was home. If for no other reason than to watch her laugh as Ada jumped up and down with glee. Or not. Would it be playful childish Ada or this newer, older, composed Ada?

But Amy would still be there, laughing, regardless. Amy would be home.

Sheldon ducked his head slightly and lifted his short bangs out of the way.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked.

If he looked out of the top of his eyes, over his glasses, he could just see her on the screen. "Kissing you with my mind."

He was rewarded with great peals of laughter from Amy, and he joined her, lifting his head. He missed her laughter so much. He missed her presence in his life so much. He wasn't too proud to admit he missed her presence in his bed. Which reminded him of an idea he had last night; then, he had shrugged it away as impossible. But her laughter, her absence . . . As she was wiping tears of joy from her face, he tried to surreptitiously look something else up online.

"Oh, what's this one in your to-read queue? 'Rendezvous at Midnight?' 'Unable to sleep, Elizabeth wonders into the library at Netherfield just before midnight and discovers Mr. Darcy -"

"Oh my God, Sheldon! Stop it!" Amy called. "How do you know my password?"

"Please, I've known it for years." Sheldon bit the inside of his lips to keep from smiling. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. '. . . and discovers Mr. Darcy immersed in a book she has never heard of before. Which physical pleasures, exactly, will Mr. Darcy teach her from this ancient Indian text?'" Sheldon's eye shifted back to Amy's horrified face. "Doesn't this author know that the  _Kama Sutra_ wasn't published in English until 1883? And that  _Pride and Prejudice_  was published in 1813?"

"Stop it! Stop it!" There was a noise on the other side of the screen as Amy stood, the view of the hotel room shifting behind her. "I'm ending this call!" Her hand went up toward the screen.

"Wait! How about I read it aloud for your pleasure?" Sheldon asked quickly, his heart hammering. Perhaps he should have opened with that essential detail. Why else would he be interested in her poorly written, historically inaccurate smut?

There was a pause as Amy bent back down toward her screen. "Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Do you want me to?" he whispered.

"Only if you want," she replied softly.

Licking his lips, Sheldon said, "Maybe we should make ourselves comfortable first?"

"Sheldon Cooper, I love you so much," Amy said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Just remember that when you're imagining yourself in that musty library screaming Mr. Darcy's name. Switching to the iPad . . . "


	114. Rendezvous

**Rendezvous**

* * *

_"Wait! How about I read it aloud for your pleasure?" Sheldon asked quickly, his heart hammering. Perhaps he should have opened with that essential detail. Why else would he be interested in her poorly written, historically inaccurate smut?_

_There was a pause as Amy bent back down toward her screen. "Seriously?"_

_He shrugged. "Do you want me to?" he whispered._

_"Only if you want," she replied softly._

_Licking his lips, Sheldon said, "Maybe we should make ourselves comfortable first?"_

_"Sheldon Cooper, I love you so much," Amy said._

_He raised an eyebrow. "Just remember that when you're imagining yourself in that musty library screaming Mr. Darcy's name. Switching to the iPad . . . "_

* * *

Years ago, on their first Christmas Eve as a married couple, Amy had discovered  _Love Actually_  on Netflix and cajoled Sheldon into cuddling and watching it with her, the room lit only by the bulbs of the Christmas tree. It perhaps didn't need to be said that Sheldon hated the movie. He huffed and sighed and squirmed to the point Amy almost volunteered to turn it off. However, her favorite scene of all was the very end, when all the couples and families reunited at the airport with so much joy and so many smilies and hugs. Although Sheldon not-peacefully suffered through until the very last, Amy never asked him to watch it again with her.

Now, airports were not joyous for her at all. She had seen far too many in the past few months. The accolades that came with her discovery were thrilling, of course, but they didn't make up for lonely hours on the road without her husband, without her family. There were no smiles in the TSA lines. There was no hug from the taciturn driver that invariably met her with a sign, even at the Burbank Bob Hope Airport to take her home. The driver and the closer, smaller airport were perks provided by Caltech for their newest star researcher. But she would have gladly exchanged them for just another week at home.

So Sheldon was the last person she expected to be waiting for her at the arrival lounge. He, too, was holding a sign, but it said 'Dr. Fowler, Genius.'

Her face broke open and she ran toward him, throwing herself at him, just like she was in  _Love Actually_ , ignoring his  _wwmmmphhh_  and the crumpling of the sign as they collided. "It's you!"

"Goodness!" he said, giving in and wrapping his arms around her. "Do you meet all your drivers this way? Exactly what kind of services is our employer offering these days?"

"I'm so happy to see you!" Amy gushed and tilted her head back to look into his grin. "What are you doing here? It's a Friday morning, you should be at work." She backed away slightly.

Sheldon shrugged. "I took the day off and canceled the car service. I wanted to surprise you. To welcome you home." He glanced away, his eyes searching, before he bent down and whispered "I missed you" just before giving her a brief, gentle kiss.

"Oh, Sheldon," Amy breathed out, pulling him back and kissing him longer, harder.

He tugged back, embarrassed, she knew, because they were in public. "Have you been reading more of that smut on the airplane?"

"Oh, no. I'm only going to let you read it aloud to me from now on," she purred.

Flushing pink, Sheldon said, "Come on, let's get your suitcase. Please tell me you have a suitcase to retrieve."

Amy laughed, put her free hand in his while trapping her carryon with other, and followed him to baggage claim. Happy and pleased, she chatted about her recent trip, about the weather in Chicago, about other new things she learned at the conference, answering Sheldon's questions as he drove them home. He told her about his week with Ada in more detail, about tidbits of gossip and information he had picked up about their friends.

All of the weariness of the recent week melted away by the time they made it home, and her heart lifted that way it always did at the sight of their abode. Here, where her heart resided. She had no sooner stopped moving than Belle wound her herself in and around her legs, purring loudly. Amy reached down and ran her hand along the cat's silky fur, cooing, "Well, hello, cutie. I'm happy to see you, too!"

Once Belle left her to go curl up somewhere, Amy wondered over to the corner of the dining table, where Sheldon had left the mail carefully stacked for her inspection.

"I presume we're still going over to Leonard and Penny's tonight?" she asked, picking up the first catalog.

"Do you not want to?" Sheldon asked, coming to stand beside her.

Amy shrugged. "No, it's fine. There's time for a nap first. And a hot bath. That's really what I want. Besides, Ada would be disappointed if we didn't go."

"Beyond disappointed," Sheldon said.

Then she felt him brushing her hair away from her neck and a soft kiss landed there. "I missed you."

"So you said," Amy said with a small smile, her eyes leaving the catalogue page. She turned around to look at him. "I missed you, too."

She reached up to cradle his face in his hands. As much as she enjoyed their FaceTime chats, nothing was a good as seeing him and touching him in person. Pulling him down, she touched her lips to his and enjoyed the feel of them for a moment before she opened her lips. He understood her cue and wrapped his arms about her as he met her tongue, gently at first and then urgently. They broke away with a pant, and Sheldon rested his head against hers.

"I missed that, too. All the reading in the world isn't as good as that," Amy said. She had thoroughly enjoyed Sheldon's recitation of that silly M-rated fanfiction to her the other night. She wasn't quit sure how he kept it together, his voice so soothing and strong and, yes, sensual even as she had turned the iPad camera off and pleasured herself to the sound of his voice. Although she hadn't muted her end of the conversation, there had only been the pause in his reading while she climaxed to give away that he'd heard her. She assumed he'd waited for his own pleasure until the call was over. "How about we take that nap together now?"

"Mmmmm," he said. "There's something I want to tell you first."

"Okay."

"I want you to know that I've given a lot of thought to Sherlock Holmes and Watson since Book Club -"

"Sherlock Holmes and Watson?" Amy raised her eyebrows in surprise, pulling away slightly.

"I want you to know that, although it is has not been or does not constitute my plan even at this time, I would be honored to be Watson to your Sherlock. Your genius astounds me, Amy. It always has. It's what I loved first, you know, that beautiful mind of yours." He looked down and shrugged. "I could not be more proud and happy for you right now. I am content to live in your shadow, and I apologize if it did not sound that way at Book Club."

"Sheldon, Sheldon," Amy murmured, picking his chin back up with her fingertips. "I don't want you to live in my shadow. I only want you to burn in the passionate fire of my love."

He looked at her a minute, blinking calmly and then he nodded. "I intend to continue to strive for my own break-through discovery."

"I'd be very concerned if you didn't. After all, Watson is the one who became famous for his writings."

He smiled then, and Amy pulled him in for a hug. "Did you take the day off of work just to tell me that?"

"That's not all. I may have thought about burning in the passionate fire of your love. Which, it seems you've forgotten about my memory, little lady." She loved listening the way his voice rumbled through his chest. "I seem to remember some burning in the passionate fire of love in the library at Netherfield at midnight in a certain story."

Amy chuckled into his chest. "Okay, you caught me. It  _is_  an awfully cheesy line, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sheldon said. Then he leaned down even closer, and blew hot breath into her ear, a sure way to make her skin tingle. "It was perhaps the worst line in anything we have ever read," he whispered.

She managed to hiccup a little chuckle just before his lips moved to find hers, and she met them eagerly, hungrily, in the way she had been aching to kiss him ever since that night in the hotel room. Her hands went around his neck, pulling him closer, burying themselves in his dark hair. One by one, his fingers had worked their magic on the buttons of her cardigan, and now his palms slid up and over her bosom to her shoulders to push the sweater down her arms.

Pulling back, Amy said, "The bedroom?"

"Why?" Sheldon murmured. "There are book shelves right here. And a table. Alas! no maps or globe."

Giggling as his lips captured her neck, Amy said, "Are you attempting to recreate a certain fanfiction? I'm not sure I have the stamina for that."

"And you're not a nervous but eager virgin named Elizabeth, either," Sheldon said, unbuttoning her blouse now, even as her cardigan remained hanging open. "And I fear I don't have the sardonic wit of Mr. Darcy, although I'm better looking. I suggest -" he kissed her gently "- a variation. And I'm not just talking about reality or the laws of physics as applied to the act of lovemaking."

"Oh, a variation?" Amy purred, snaking her hands under his tee shirts. "What did you have in mind?"

"First of all, please tell me this bra unhooks in the front."

Amy reached up and unclasped the front of her bra with a chuckle, just as Sheldon grunted his approval into another kiss. When his thumbs made contact with her nipples, she moaned into his mouth as her back arched. They circled as his palms cupped her breasts, sending wave after wave of strong arousal though her.

"Amy," Sheldon finally said, breaking the kiss. He moved his hands so that they were on her sides and lifted her slightly. "Sit on the table."

"Okay, but no split bamboo for me today. My hip is little sore -"

He pulled away. "Are you injured? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." She shook her head and put her hand on his chest. "I just got stiff on airplane. You know, sitting too long in one position, those seats are so uncomfortable and it was freezing. That's it, I promise. It already feels almost normal being up walking around."

Sheldon's eyes searched hers. "If you're sure, shall we continue?"

She could not comply fast enough. Already Sheldon's hands were smoothing up her knees, her thighs, lifting her skirt as they treaded up her body, finding her underwear. Preparing to lift her bottom so he could slide them, Sheldon ran the back of his hand between her legs instead. She shivered in anticipation as her legs parted wider on instinct and reached for his belt buckle. Quickly, she loosened his belt and unzipped his pants. Sheldon let go of her just long enough to push everything to the floor, kicking off his shoes in the process.

"Amy." He whispered it again, pushing her back carefully, until he was leaning over, first kissing her lips and then moving his lips slowly down her neck, along the exposed section of collarbone, and then capturing one of her breasts in his mouth. Amy gasped. Oh, yes, she'd missed this.

As he switched to the other breast, Sheldon finally reached up to her skirt to pull down her panties, letting them fall down around her ankles, and she wiggled one foot until she was able to drop them on the floor. He shifted closer, rising up off of her to pull her hips closer and then she welcomed him with a deep moan. "Oh, Sheldon."

He leaned down again, kissing her softly, even as he found a rhythm and whispered, "You have no idea how hard it's been waiting for this."

"Pun intended?"

"I don't even know." His lips smacked into her again in a frenzy as he increased the pace. Amy met him with just has much eagerness, tasting, enjoying the delights of Sheldon giving to her in so many different ways, one of his palms even holding her breast in its gentle grasp.

"Amy. Oh, Amy," he moaned as he he pulled away, and Amy looked at him carefully, his eyes shutting. "Wait." Everything stopped. "I'm sorry -"

"Shhh, Sheldon, shhh," she soothed, running her palm down his face. "It's good. Let yourself go." She wanted him to know that his body and his pleasure really were enough for her. It was now clear from his pace that he'd denied himself any release until this moment, which she did not entirely understand but knew was an act of love for him. So great was his love and desire and need, that he'd even left his tee shirts on, though normally he hated being half-dressed.

Shaking his head, Sheldon leaned back, one hand finding it's way between them, making contact, causing her back to arch. Then he started again, thrusting with his hips at the same rapid pace he touched her, kneading her gratification into a tight little knot.

"Oh, Amy, nooooo," he groaned, he lip curling and his head going back just before he slumped forward slightly, his hand falling way from her. He panted above. "I'm so sorry."

Close enough she could touch him now, Amy pulled him down into a hug. "Please don't be. This is enough for me, it really is."

"No," he shook her arms off as he leaned back again. "You know I can't leave it like this."

She could have argued, but she wouldn't. And not for selfish reasons, but because she knew Sheldon's pleasure was so closely tied to her own. He would not be fully satisfied until she was. Everything started again, even the thrusts. She wasn't sure how long he'd be able to maintain it, but maybe the friction alone would be enough for him. She put her head back and gave into Sheldon pleasuring her, even better than all that she'd imagined that night in the hotel room. That wasn't a lie she told him: she really did always imagine him when she read those stories, not anyone else.

Then, at last, she felt it come, the giant burst of pleasure, every time even better than she remembered, and she cried out all of her joy, only stopping when Sheldon collapsed against her. Amy wrapped her arms around him and kissed his glistening forehead. "Thank you."

"That's what I missed most," he panted. "The sound of your climax. In person."

"I love you."

He lifted his head and smiled down at her. "I love you, too. Now, I believe something was said about a hot shower and nap?"

Amy nodded. She didn't even correct him that it was a bath, not a shower, because she knew that this was his subtle method of getting his own way. It didn't matter. A hot shower followed by a nap with Sheldon was worth giving up a bath for.

Suddenly, a memory came to her and she burst out laughing, her head rolling against the wooden surface.

"What?"

"It occurs to me that we just literally put coitus on the table," she said, grinning up at him.

First his eyebrows dipped and then they went up. "It seems we did." Then they dipped again. "What were we thinking? We have to eat there! Where's the bleach?! I have to sanitize it!"

In one swift move, he ran away from her in his stocking feet, his tee shirt hems not covering his adorable little bottom. Amy sat up, her open bra and blouse fluttering around her and laughed some more at the sight of him fleeing half-naked across the room.

"At least put some pants on before you use that caustic chemical so close to your naughty bits!" she yelled after him.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	115. Eleanor & Park

**_Note the date!_ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2031**

**Primary Topic: _Eleanor & Park_ by Rainbow Rowell**

**Additional Book(s) Mentioned: _The Technologists_  by Matthew Pearl**

* * *

Something was . . . off with Ada. Amy couldn't put her finger on it, and she tried to brush it away as teenage uncertainty, but there was still something different about her daughter today.

That morning, Ada had awoke to three new pimples on her forehead and she'd been uncharacteristically hysterical about them. There had been pimples before, of course, but these seemed to unhinge her somehow. As usual, nothing Amy suggested was good enough; her pointing out that they were tiny and barely noticeable only inflamed the situation, and Ada was dropped off at school in a fume. Sheldon, with his flawless porcelain skin, turned to Amy in the car and said, "Don't look at me. I don't understand it. I was delightful at that age."

Perhaps she was ill. After school, after she'd gone to her bedroom to change out of her uniform, she emerged in harem pants, an old Miss Piggy tee shirt, and Converse sneakers. It wasn't the absurdity of the outfit that concerned Amy or even the puffy, pleated harem pants (they were all the rage among teenagers this season), but rather that it was clearly thrown on in a huff and didn't have a theme. Ada always had a theme.

"Ugh, my jeans are all hideous," Ada moaned, meeting Amy in the kitchen.

"There is nothing wrong with your jeans. You picked them out yourself," Amy replied.

Ada opened the refrigerator door and leaned in. "Do we have any yogurt?"

"Yes," Amy looked up from sorting the mail, surprised, "but you'll ruin your dinner. It's Friday, remember? We'll be leaving in about half an hour."

Ada rolled her eyes as she stood back up with a tub of yogurt. Amy ignored it. "I need it. I've got gas or something."

"Are you ill?" Amy asked, her brows dipping in concern. "And please don't be crass."

"I'm fine, Mom." There was a huge sigh as she reached in the drawer for a spoon and walked toward the sofa, where she promptly plopped down in Sheldon's spot.

But then, as Amy sat on the opposite end, Ada returned to her mostly delightful self, and asked Amy's opinion on who she should pick for her history report on famous people of the 19th-century. "I think it's important to write about a woman, of course," Ada said, and that made Amy smile, "but the only women on our list are Mary Shelley, Marie Curie, and Ada Lovelace. I think Ada Lovelace is the most obscure, but then everyone will think I picked her because of my name. But Mr. Acton said I could pick someone else."

"Why not do Marie Curie?" Sheldon called from his whiteboards, proof that he'd been listening to their interaction all along.

"Too obvious," Ada said, after swallowing a bite.

"Ellen Swallow Richards because you enjoyed  _The Technologists_?" Amy suggested.

"I could do Ethelred Benett," her daughter said with a little smile as she took another bite of yogurt.

Sheldon groaned. "A geologist? Really?"

"How about Sarah Drake, since you like to draw?" Amy suggested, biting off her own chuckle.

"Oh, the botanical illustrator?" Ada perked up. Amy nodded. "No, I'll give it to Jacob. That's right up his alley. Either that or Alice Eastwood." Then she frowned. "Although I think he's already decided on Frederick Law Olmsted. Talk about obvious."

"Marie-Sophie Germain. She was a physicist," Sheldon suggested.

"Was she the one that argued that there really is no difference between the sciences and the humanities?" Ada asked, turning her head toward her father.

"Well, yes, but she's more famous for her mathematical formulas than that philosophical clap -"

"I  _am_ so doing that! Thanks, Dad!" Ada hopped up and ran over to kiss his cheek before she went to the kitchen to wash the empty yogurt container out for recycling.

Sheldon grunted, but Amy saw him smile in pleasure at the kiss.

But, on the drive home from Leonard and Penny's, withdrawn Ada had returned. Not her usual calm quiet contentment, instead her body language was positively surly. Amy could feel some sort of tension leaking from her. Had something happened between her and the other children? Not really children, not some of them anymore, Amy reminded herself. Everything had seemed calm from a distance, when they are all eating at their own table in the playroom, but then a few of the older ones had gone out to the Hofstadter's well-manicured backyard. Perhaps something had happened out there?

When they got home, Sheldon immediately gushed, "Ada, guess what showed up on Netflix today -"

"I'm going to my room," she interrupted him.

"But it's -"

"I said no, Dad. Jesus, can't you ever leave me alone?" Ada turned and tromped down the hallway.

"Do not speak to your father that way, young lady!" Amy called after her just as Ada slammed her bathroom door. Even Belle, who had come to greet them, seemed forgotten, and she ran toward the sunroom in response to the explosive noises.

Amy watched her husband quietly remove his jacket and walk to his whiteboards again. He didn't acknowledge Ada's outburst, but that was how he seemed to deal with all of her inexplicable fits of temper that he didn't understand. Goodness knew he had enough practice.

Despite Ada's outburst and drama this evening, Amy was back to enjoying her daughter again. She had always, always loved her, but there had been several months when Ada was eleven that Amy thought she had been possessed by a demon. Ada had been moody and cranky and uncooperative and she had the worst attitude. There were times, that year, that Amy had wanted to strangle her. Even her beloved father was not immune to her eruptions, and, more often than they cared to remember, they had gone to bed numb and exhausted from the constant battles, Sheldon whispering yet again, "I just don't understand it. I was delightful at that age."

Then, slowly, Ada had began to calm down again. Several inches were added to her height, and it was though all that stretching and growing squeezed the malcontent out of her. Of course, she was now officially a teenager and there are still disagreements and squabbles, but they were not so frequent or intense anymore. Now there was enough time between them that Amy could just take a deep breath and remind herself that her daughter's prefrontal cortex was not fully developed yet.

But tonight . . . "I'm worried about Ada," Amy said, walking up to Sheldon at the whiteboard. "She seems . . . " Amy struggled to find the correct term.

"Thirteen?" Sheldon suggested.

Looking sharply at him, Amy said, "Don't be flippant. I'm serious. Are you being flippant?"

He looked at her. "No."

Sighing, Amy nodded. No, flippant was too close to sarcastic for Sheldon to have mastered it. "Sorry. I'm just worried about her." Amy heard the bathroom door open and Ada walk to her bedroom. "Maybe she's ill? She said she needed yogurt earlier."

"Go ask her. Find out," Sheldon said, reaching up to write something in his equation.

Amy bit her lip. That could be like walking into a minefield. Had something happened between her and Jacob? Generally, he was the only one she seemed to really enjoy seeing on Friday nights, Amy thought. Once again, she thought she should talk to Sheldon about whether or not they were going to continue to allow them to go off alone to the backyard anymore. So far, Fenton or Lucy usually went, too, but not always. Even though Amy was fairly certain Ada didn't realize Jacob was a male, there was no denying he was a fifteen year old male. And she was thirteen. Things, inappropriate things, happened when hormonal teenagers were left alone. Her heart hammered just thinking about that conversation. Which would be worse: the conversation with Sheldon or the one with Ada?

But maybe Sheldon was correct and she should brave asking Ada what was wrong. Maybe it would be the opening she needed to bring up her concerns. "Okay, I'll go ask."

Ada's door was shut, so Amy knocked. "Ada?"

There was no reply. Amy knocked again. "Ada, sweetheart, are you unwell?" Suddenly, Belle had appeared at her side and she joined Amy's pleas with her own loud and demanding "Meoooowww!"

As there was no reply to either of them, Amy twisted the doorknob. "I'm coming in now unless you tell me otherwise." She paused and waited for the standard "Go away," but it didn't come. Opening the door slowly, she peered around its edge. Ada was face down on her bed, her head buried in her pillow, her long, beautiful hair spread out upon her back, shaking with, Amy realized, sobs.

"Oh, Ada!" Amy ran to her daughter's side, barely missing the also-running Belle, and sat on the very edge of her bed, stroking her hair. It never stopped hurting, the sight of your child crying, whether it was because she had fallen at the age of three and skinned her knee or because she was thirteen and the whole world was unfair. The latter was actually more painful, as there was no bandage, not even those old Jane Austen ones, for the boo-boos of adolescence. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"You'll think it's stupid," Ada sobbed.

"No, no, I'm sure it's not. If it's important to you, I want to hear about it." Amy continued to stroke her hair as Ada's sobs quieted.

"You won't laugh?" Ada asked, turning her head.

"No. I promise." Amy shook her head. "It is about Jacob?"

"Jacob?" Ada raised her head and the little line she sometimes got appeared between her brows. Her glasses were off, sitting on the end table, Amy noticed. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Never mind. Go on," Amy prompted. Maybe her fears about pubescent curiosity were unfounded after all.

Ada twisted, sat up, and took a deep breath, looking down in her lap at her hands. Finally, she whispered, "Lucy is wearing bras. Like, real ones."

"Oh!" Amy had to bite her lip then, to really stop from laughing. But she had promised, and if she laughed now she knew Ada would never tell her anything again, her trust shattered. "Okay. Well, Ada, that's not surprising. Many girls are starting to develop breasts at her age. She'll be twelve this summer, you know."

"But I'm thirteen now!" Ada said with a fresh sob, and Amy reached for her hand. It was true; Ada had no breasts at all. She wore a camisole or those flat crop tops under her shirts for modesty, but never a real bra.

"Sweetheart, I know. Just because here has been a historical shift in the onset of puberty, it is still perfectly normal for females to experience the various landmarks up until the age of sixteen -"

"I know the science, Mom," Ada growled.

Amy nodded. "Of course you do. I'm just saying that Lucy has different genetics than you. Look at Aunt Bernadette. And then look at your father's family, who you clearly take after physically. It is only logical that Lucy would develop larger breasts than you."

"But what if I never get any boobs? I'm flat as a pancake! What if I look like Dad my entire life?" Ada asked.

"Well, your father is quite the catch and a very fine physical specimen -"

"Mom!" Ada yelled, looking up.

"Okay, okay." Amy took a deep breath. "But it doesn't matter what you look like. You're so very intelligent and unique and inventive, and you should always be so proud of your mind above all else -"

"But I'm not pretty. You never use the word the pretty. You never tell me I'm pretty." Ada pulled away from her and curled up against her headboard, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh, Ada, I -" Amy faltered. It was true. She believed so strongly in convincing her daughter - in convincing any young woman - that her might was her intelligence, not her physical attributes, that she had never praised or criticized Ada on the basis of her looks. As long as her personal hygiene was in order, Amy only asked and commented on how things made her feel, what she thought about them.

But Ada, oh! her darling Ada, was beautiful. Even though, thanks to Sheldon's never-ending love and appreciation of her body, Amy had mostly made peace with her middle-age spread, she felt dumpy next to her gorgeous, gangly child. Amy's hair had never been so bright, her legs had never been so long, her hips had never been so slender.

"Ada, sweetheart, I'm sorry. You are beautiful, you really are. I just wanted you to be proud of your mind, that's all. I didn't want you to feel that you had to alter your body in some way to fit societal norms or to impress some boy. But," Amy took a deep breath, "your body is lovely. It's exactly what I would have wanted. You're so tall and thin, just like a model, and you can wear anything you want, even these absurd harem pants, and somehow manage to pull it off."

"Really?" Ada asked, lowering her hands.

"Yes, of course." Amy put her hand on Ada's knee and squeezed gently. "But please promise me that you'll love all of yourself, not just your body. I want you to look in the mirror and be confident, yes, but also for what you cannot see, hiding there beneath this hair." Amy reached up to brush a lock away from Ada's face.

She remembered suddenly, laying in her own bed, her mother stroking her hair in exactly the same manner. How odd. Even as an adult, when she recalled her teenage fights with her mother, she still thought her mother had never understood her. But now, remembering her mother doing something that would not have come naturally to her, Amy wondered if she's been unfair to her for too many years.

"Is that all you're upset about?" Amy asked softly.

"Yes. Why?" Ada's eyebrows dipped.

"I just didn't know if something happened between you and Jacob . . . or if you were hoping that something would happen -"

"Mom!" Ada yelled, turning up her nose.

"Sweetheart, you're a lovely young lady and he's a young man and it's very normal if your hormones are leading to you have sexual -"

"Gross!" Ada pushed Amy's hand off her knee. "No, no, no. It's Jacob! Never in a million years!"

"Ada -"

"You'll never understand me!" Ada wailed and flopped over on her pillow again. "Just go away."

"I'm trying -"

"Go away, you're just making everything worse!"

Sighing deeply, Amy got up to leave her. She didn't want to leave her beautiful, crying daughter alone, especially as she still thought there must be some other under current to make Ada get this worked up, but experience had taught her when to let it be. Turning at the last moment, she saw Belle curl up tight against Ada's leg and even the cat sent a stink eye in Amy's direction. Apparently she was outnumbered. She sighed again and left, shutting Ada's door behind her.

Once she was in the hallway, she paused to lean against the wall, letting herself calm down before she returned to Sheldon. It would do no good to get him upset in addition tonight, and certainly not when Amy herself could not fully explain this weird sense she had. Regardless, he was probably going to be upset enough by what she decided, standing there, taking deep breaths and thinking.

When she rounded the corner from the hallway, Sheldon was sitting in his spot and the television was on, but Amy knew without asking, without even thinking about it, that he wasn't watching it. Even though she was certain the softer words couldn't have been heard through the walls, the door was not shut and he might have heard Ada's muffled yells from down the hallway. His faced turned sharply towards hers, expectant and concerned.

"She's fine," Amy said, going to stand near him. "Just teenage problems." She paused to think and that gave Sheldon the opening to speak.

"Teenage problems? I'm curious why you think that explains everything. I was a teenager once, too, and I was delightful."

Amy ignored it and took deep breath. "I have something to tell you, and I'm only going to say it once." Sheldon's eyebrows went up. "Additionally, I'm only telling you this because I know you sometimes assist in doing Ada's laundry if she's busy, even though she's supposed to be doing her own laundry now that she's in high school. But you will not udder a single word about it, most especially to Ada." Sheldon's eyebrows went down in confusion. "I am taking Ada shopping this weekend and we are buying her bras."

"Wh -"

"No." Amy put her finger out. "This conversation is over."

"But -"

"Over, Sheldon. Cease and desist."

"A-"

"Not. Another. Sound."

Sheldon exhaled forcefully and turned his head away from her. "Am I allowed to ask what happened to my little girl?" he muttered.

Smiling and softening, Amy sat down on the sofa next to him and put her hand on his arm. "She's growing up. It happens."

He nodded softly, and Amy leaned over to kiss his shoulder through his tee shirts. "I miss her, too." Amy sighed. "Although I am glad the preteen years are behind us."

Turning his head, he reached to put his hand over hers. "I suppose if we're discussing teenagers and their angst, we ought to have Book Club."

Amy smiled. "Yes, let's. Although I'm concerned from the way you phrased that you didn't care for this book."

"Au contraire. I liked it," Sheldon said. "It made me sad, though."

"Sad at the ending?" Amy asked, as she shifted on the sofa, settling in for a deep conversation, for one of her favorite activities with her husband.

"No - well, yes, of course. But," Sheldon shrugged, "I didn't like reading about Eleanor's home."

"Oh." Amy's mind glanced over the events of the summer in Texas that Ada had broken her arm, such indelible happenings that they always leapt first to her mind when she thought about Sheldon's childhood home. "It was never as bad as that," she said softly.

"No, it wasn't. My father was never violent. And even George . . . it was mild in comparison. It's just," he took a deep breath, "it's humbling to realize that someone has it much worse. And that it's not always fiction."

Amy shook her head and looked down. "I know what you mean. All the high school bullying here . . . it hurt all over again."

"Oh, Amy," Sheldon said, his fingertips lifting up her chin. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's good you did. It's an important element to the story, it's essential to the plot. And," she gave a small smile to reassure him, "I think it's an example of what an extremely talented writer Rainbow Rowell is. That she could make both of us feel those emotions all over again, just as deeply as we did the first time. I felt like . . . like she was able to open up my chest and pour all the hurt directly into my heart."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "That's very . . . I want to say hippy-dippy, but I'll say poetic because I love you."

She smiled. "Whatever you call it, it's the truth. I _loved_ this book."

"What was your favorite part?" Sheldon asked.

It seemed the melancholy was behind them for the evening, and Amy was pleased. "This." She reached for her iKindle, which was sitting on the coffee table. Of course. Sheldon would have moved in preparation for Book Club. But when? While she was talking to Ada? Did he know her well enough to know Book Club was a balm for so many types of ache? She smiled. Of course he did.

Still smiling, she read, "'Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm. And Eleanor disintegrated . . . Disintegrated. Like something had gone wrong beaming her onto the Starship  _Enterprise_. If you've ever wondered what that feels like, it's a lot like melting - but more violent. Even in a million different pieces, Eleanor could still feel Park holding her hand. Could still feel his thumb exploring her palm. She sat completely still because she didn't have any other option. She tried to remember what kind of animals paralyzed their prey before they ate them . . . Maybe Park had paralyzed her with his ninja magic, his Vulcan handhold, and now he was going to eat her. That would be awesome.'"

Looking up shyly, not because it was salacious or because she was embarrassed by Sheldon's piercing blue gaze, but because she knew her cheeks were flushing because it was just so true, she whispered, "It's exactly how I felt that day on your sofa when Howard was lifting off into space."

"'As soon as he touched her, he wondered how he'd gone this long without doing it. He rubbed his thumb through her palm and up her fingers, and was aware of her every breath. Maybe, he thought now, he just didn't recognize all those other girls. The way a computer drive will spit out a disk if it doesn't recognize the formatting. When he touched Eleanor's hand, he recognized her. He knew,'" Sheldon recited back, a slight flush creeping into his own face, his hand reaching for hers as he'd spoke, his long fingers brushing her palm, trailing along her own digits, sending sparks along her arm.

"Yes." Amy nodded. "Exactly like that."

"I've always wondered what beaming up would feel like," Sheldon whispered, not breaking his gaze. "And now I know. It would feel like touching you."

Her breath caught in her throat, the world stilled around her, and Amy only managed a squeak. Her heart pounded in a way she was certain it had not pounded since she was a teenager herself. She was also unsure what had overtaken Sheldon, if some sort of time portal had opened up on their couch and if they had been transported back to 1996, where they were both young enough to say foolish and preposterous things like that and believe it, believe it with every fiber of their beings.

"Do you -" she faltered, unsure of breaking the moment "- do you think it's all a bit too much, a bit too unrealistic?"

Sheldon sat back, and she cursed herself. "That a transporter malfunction and holding hands feel the same? Most certainly. To beam up is really a transmission of subatomic particles and energy across a subspace domain -"

"No, I meant . . . the sheer force of their emotions."

"Oh." Sheldon paused. "I think parts were. They were sixteen, and it's my understanding that most sixteen year olds feel that their first relationship is perfect, that it's the one that's going to last the rest of their lives. I'm actually surprised you didn't bring up Eleanor's comment that it's not just that she likes Park, but that she lives for him, that she needs him to save her."

"Well," Amy sat back herself, the spell officially broken now, "a part of me, of course, doesn't like that statement at all. One should never live entirely for someone else. You should live for yourself and if that other person truly loves you, they love you for that reason. There is a part of me that realizes that's a horrible message to be sending to teenage girls." Sheldon nodded. "But . . . Park does save her. Literally. He really does give her the will to live in the sense of getting away from a life that would have broken her, although broken doesn't seem like a strong enough word in this context. Crushed her completely, maybe."

"Park needs her, too, at that time in his life. Although his home life is much better, he doesn't seem to have much drive or interest in anything. She gives him something to fight for," Sheldon said.

"Yes, I agree." She paused. "I don't think it would have lasted, really. I think they just needed each other that year. It's alluded to, I think, near the end." She looked back down at her iKindle and found the quote she had marked. "'Not forever, not for good. Probably just temporarily. But you saved my life, and now I'm yours. The me that's me right now is yours. Always.'"

"That's the problem, though. If Ada has taught me one thing recently it's that teenagers are very confusing creatures, and they're always changing," Sheldon said. "I don't think I ever recognized that until now. It frightens me. It's not that I'm frightened you won't soothe her when she's upset or that she's experiencing puberty, it's that I just don't understand what she's feeling."

Amy squeezed his hand. She had not expected that turn in the conversation, but perhaps it was only reasonable. "I don't either, really, all the time. Ada is - I hope - experiencing a very different adolescence than I was. You know if I could I would make everything easy and simple for her, that she'd never have any heartache. But I don't think we can. Perhaps that's another theme of this book, that every teenager has their own version of pain. For Eleanor, of course, it's more overt, her home life and the bullying at school. But Park feels pain at home, too, because he feels misunderstood and lost, whether or not we adult readers see it that way."

Sheldon shook his head. "I thought I liked this book, now I'm not so sure."

"Because it makes you think? Or feel deeply? Or frightened that we won't always be able to save Ada from every heartache?" Amy asked.

"I'm never afraid to think," was his only reply, which told Amy everything she needed to know. She smiled. She wanted to get back to that moment, the one earlier, when they were holding hands and sending out enough sparks to light up the room. "Since you love all the other sci-fi metaphors, how about this one: '"You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you.'"

"It sounds nice," Sheldon replied, "but Han Solo and Boba Fett didn't have that kind of relationship."

"No, I guess not." Amy chuckled, although she was still a little disappointed that she couldn't get him to gaze at her so hungrily again. "But the point is that he'd cross the sky for her."

"If you're doubting, I'd cross the sky for you," he said softly, and she saw the flare in his eyes.

"I never doubted it. I promise I'd cross the sky for you, too." She reached a finger out and skimmed the top of his tee shirt. "'There's a place on his chest, just below his throat, that makes her want to keep promises. There's only one of him.'"

Sheldon leaned closer, and picked up a lock of her hair. "'The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt. The first time he'd touched her hand, he'd known.'"

The kiss was just as good as she'd hoped it would be, warm and soft and fresh, like a first kiss, a kiss of promises to come. Her wonderful, handsome, intelligent Sheldon, still the same man she'd loved for all these years. But also softer now, more open to airing his feelings with her. The man she'd loved for ages. The man she fell in love with all over again, in a different way, every single day. There was only one of him and he was all hers.

She wrapped her arms around him, and it felt just like disintegrating.


	116. Boobs

**Boobs**

* * *

_"I just didn't know if something happened between you and Jacob . . . or if you were hoping that something would happen -"_

_"Mom!" Ada yelled, turning up her nose._

_"Sweetheart, you're a lovely young lady and he's a young man and it's very normal if your hormones are leading to you have sexual -"_

_"Gross!" Ada pushed Amy's hand off her knee. "No, no, no. It's Jacob! Never in a million years!"_

_"Ada -"_

_"You'll never understand me!" Ada wailed and flopped over on her pillow again. "Just go away."_

_"I'm trying -"_

_"Go away, you're just making everything worse!"_

* * *

She hated them. She really did. Why, oh why, she wondered, not for the first time, couldn't she be switched at birth or adopted or anything else? But no, she was stuck with the most embarrassing, weirdest, most horrible parents in the whole school. And she couldn't even deny they were hers, because she was cursed to look so much like her father.

And look what else this curse brought her: no boobs, no hips, freakishly tall. She was probably never going to get her period, either! If she had to be stuck with them, why couldn't she have at least got Mom's boobs? Mom had boobs. And hips. Granted, Ada would not have wanted to be overweight, but some cleavage would have been nice.

Ugh, Mom! Couldn't she let something rest for once? It's not as though Ada was a child, needing explanations for everything. Sometimes she just wanted to be alone and cry, even if there wasn't a logical reason for why the news of Lucy's new bras made her so upset. But, no, Mom wanted to discuss everything, to find the reason and the meaning, to make it all a lesson or something stupid. Like that dumb Book Club.

It's not like Dad was much better. A man in his fifties who still showed up at school events in a train tee shirt? And that wasn't even as embarrassing as the way he acted. Yeah, Dad, we get it: you're the smartest man in the room. This is all tedious and beneath you.

God, they were such nerds!

Ada allowed herself a tiny smile. She should ask Dad about the bras. Better yet, why she didn't have her period. He would faint!

Why couldn't Raj and Stuart be her dads? They were cooler, at least, even if they were getting frayed around the edges lately. But comfortably frayed, like old house slippers. Not Jacob's parents; she didn't understand how Jacob had withstood all that yelling for years. And then Howard and Bernadette had divorced and then it was all weird because they still both came on Friday nights and seemed to get along and then they went home together . . . Ugh. No wonder Jacob was so shy and backwards. Aunt Penny and Uncle Leonard would be cool. Penny was beautiful. And sort of famous. And rich. Plus, they didn't hover.

That was it: her parents were always hovering. Not physically - thank God! - but mentally. They expected so much. Once or twice, Ada had been tempted to purposely put all the wrong answers on a test just to see their faces when she failed. But, then, she just couldn't do it. She was the smartest girl in the room, in her grade, heck, in school. She just couldn't do it. It was beneath her.

Why couldn't her parents be more like Grandmother Fowler? She was perfect. So calm, so cool, so detached. Nothing was worthy of a panic at her house. No hovering. Just, if warranted, "Good work, Ada." And her clothes! She dressed like an adult, not an overgrown child. Or an old lady. She had a sense of style. Impeccable taste. It was so nice at her house. Okay, yes, her parents would let her do whatever she wanted at home, read in her room or draw or whatever, but she always felt like they were watching her out of the corners of their eyes. But not Grandmother Fowler. She would truly ignore Ada. It was . . . freeing. Sometimes she actually looked surprised when Ada entered a room. Not like she was waiting with bated breath for just another sight of Ada, like Ada was some treasure or vision or something. She even liked calling her Grandmother, like it was due her station or something. Regal. That was it. Why couldn't Ada be regal like Grandmother?

Oh, right, because her parents were such nerds. She was cursed to be a giant boobless nerd, too.

Ada raised her head off her pillow at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Her parents were going to bed. Then she looked at the clock and groaned with disgust. Seriously? They couldn't even wait until ten tonight? Now she'd have to wait in her bedroom until they were done. Good thing she didn't have to pee. So she wouldn't hear. Ada shivered.

She almost hadn't believed it the first time she heard it. And realized what it was. Two years ago. She had just told Jacob that she couldn't imagine her parents having sex. It was the day after Jacob had complained to her about his Mom coming over to talk to his Dad, and then they ended up upstairs.

"Gross, Jacob! They're divorced!" Ada had hissed. Why was Jacob talking to her about sex? And sex between Uncle Howard and Aunt Bernadette!

"And old! How do you think I feel!" he'd groused, fiddling with one of Fox's Lego ships in his hand, as he and Ada hid out in the corner of the playroom, as they did most Friday nights, sitting on the floor, talking. Too old and cool for the playroom, but far too cool for the dining room.

"At least my parents don't do that anymore," Ada said.

Jacob laughed at her. "Ada, you're such a baby sometimes."

"I am not a baby!" Ada protested. "I'm serious."

"I know. You're always serious. That's what makes you funny."

"I'm not being funny. Look at them! They're too weird to, you know, figure it all out."

"Well, they figured it out at least once, right?" Jacob asked.

Ada looked away. Her parents would kill her if they knew she was talking about sex with Jacob. Probably if she was talking about it in general. They knew she knew all about it - ugh, Mom, again, so serious about it - but that didn't mean she could talk about it. That's what she liked best about Jacob, though: they could talk about anything. She was never embarrassed with him. Yeah, he was one of the biggest nerds in their class (president of the chess club! like he was trying to be bullied!), and sometimes the other girls teased her about talking to him in the hallways, but Ada channeled her best Grandmother Fowler look of disdain and they usually backed down. Sometimes being tall was useful, too.

\- Ugh, Mom! Why did she have to say those things about Jacob and . . . hormones! Honestly, Jacob?! How disgusting. She would never, never, ever think of him that way. Just the idea make her shiver. -

Oh, yes, that night. So, later, she couldn't believe it when she's gotten up to go to the bathroom, after staying up late reading, and she heard strange sounds from behind their closed bedroom door. She stood in the hallway, breathing heavy, her palm pressed to her flat chest, her ears red and straining. Mortified and scandalized, she couldn't make herself move. It was all muffled, behind their door, and she was certain she'd never heard anything when her door was closed, but there was no denying what was happening in their room. And then she heard two things in rapid succession: "Sheldon!" followed by a . . . growl? . . . something deep and rumbling from Dad. That did it, she turned and ran back to her room, only remembering not to slam the door at the last second, so the sound wouldn't give her away. Oh my God! Her parents just had sex!

As bad as that was - so bad she tossed and turned most of the night - even worse was the wink her mother gave Dad the next morning, when she passed him his glass of milk. Ada wanted the dining table to open up and swallow her. Is that what the wink meant? It didn't happen every morning, and she's never really thought about the pattern before, but what if . . . Oh God! What if they've had sex on the dining table? Right were she was eating? That happened in movies in she wasn't supposed to watch, right? Ada snatched back from the edge and her plate of French toast.

"Ada, are you okay?" Mom had asked.

"Um, yeah. Just not hungry, I guess," she mumbled.

Dad gave her a worried look over the top of his glasses. Ada took a breath. No, of course they never had sex on the dining table. Or the sofa. Or in the shower. Or on the floor. Or outside the bedroom. Probably never with the lights on. It was a ridiculous thought. Dad wouldn't allow it. They'd have to get rid of the table. And the sofa. And the shower. And the flooring.

Not accustomed to being stupid or wrong or obtuse, Ada quickly realized how blind she'd been. The winking was the first clue. Then she started to notice the looks, the smiles, the little touches. Had they been there all along? Her parents were animals! It was disturbing, really, how they looked at each other sometimes.

"Jacob," she'd whispered a couple of months later on a Friday night, unable to hold the shame in, "my parents had sex!"

"So?"

"So? It's my parents! And not to make me, but, like, this week. And the week before. Jacob," she leaned in closer, cupping his ear with her hand, "they do it every week, I think. I think they like it!"

He'd pulled away, wiped his ear, and laughed. Finally, he'd said, "I know."

"What?" Ada looked around the playroom, wondering how he knew about her sex-crazed parents, if everyone knew, even little Fawn.

"Well, it sounds awesome doesn't it? I mean like when you - never mind." He got up and left the playroom, going to join the adults in the dining room.

Ada's eyebrows went up. Jacob had never not told her something before. When you do what? What was it that Jacob knew about doing that she didn't? She sat on the floor of the playroom, suddenly feeling just like the baby Jacob always teased her that she was.

Now, two years later, Ada knew exactly what Jacob was referencing. Ugh, boys were so disgusting. If she decided to try that - If! - that would different, right? Girls weren't disgusting. It wouldn't be that messy. It would just be . . . an experiment. Ada shook her head and got up off the bed, changing into her pajamas, grateful for the heavy doors in their home. She was suddenly very tired. Maybe it was all that crying.

Which only reminded her she'd never have boobs. Only nerdy sex-manic parents. She sighed deeply at the unfairness of her life, turned off her light, and imagined going to live with Grandmother Fowler.

* * *

She felt it as soon as she woke up. Something different. She shifted in bed to look at the clock. 6:24. A little early. But what was this vague ache? She put her hand on her stomach, expecting to find Belle's warm form pressed up against her. But, no, Belle was behind her knees. Was she getting sick? No, she couldn't. She had that history report to start on and some Japanese to practice and she had an idea for a drawing and she and Sophie were going to see a movie later.

Getting up, she shuffled to the bathroom as Belle ran off toward hers, too. Maybe she just really had to pee. After all, she'd slept longer last night and hadn't gone before bed. That would explain the heavy feeling down low.

Oh! she finished sitting down on the toilet with thump. Oh! Her heart was pounding. That was . . . it had to be . . . oh.

Ada took a couple of deep breaths. This was good, right? She was thirteen, this was normal. Mom - ugh! another serious conversation - had prepared her for this. Not that she needed Mom's lesson, really; all her classmates were two years older. Periods were discussed almost as much as trigonometry in the girls bathroom. Squirming, Ada managed to open the cabinet door next to her. Plenty of supplies. Ugh, Mom. Couldn't she be unprepared or stymied just once?

Looking at the tampon box, Ada's lips curled. Could she just stick it up there - nope. Not today. She threw the box back into the cabinet. That left just one option. Grabbing what she needed, she washed her hands and headed back to her bedroom to change.

The door across the hall opened just after she shut her own. She looked over at the clock. 6:35. Dad. She heard him pause in the hallway.  _Go away, go away,_ she silently prayed. Finally she heard him walk on, to get cereal and watch  _Star Trek: Legacy_ without her.

Tiptoeing across the hall, Ada's knocked softly on her parents' bedroom door. "Mom?"

She heard shuffling and a murmured, "Ada?"

Ada opened the door slowly, which was a good thing, because Mom was sitting in bed, hurriedly wrapping a robe around herself. Oh gross, she was naked. Eww, they'd slept that way, hadn't they?

"Ada, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Mom started to get out of bed. For once, Ada had managed to surprise her. That, at least, was satisfying. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in here. It had aways been a mystical, magical room to her. Sometimes, when she little, Mom would let her come in when she was getting dressed for Date Night - They were so weird! They had been married forever, what did they need dates for? - and Ada would brush her tiny hands along the clothes hanging in the closet and let Mom put clear but shiny lip gloss on her lips.

"No, stay, I'll come there," Ada shut the door behind her. She crawled across their big bed, an entirely new experience and settled on her knees next to her mother. "I just got my period."

"Oh, sweetheart." Mom pulled her into a hug. Ada had expected that, dreaded it, really, though it was probably best to get it over with. Now would come the speech: some biological facts, how special it was, gift to humanity, now a woman, body preparing for babies, the word "special" about ten more times, blah blah blah.

What she had not expected was how good her mother's arms felt. "Oh, Mom," it escaped in a sob.

Mom squeezed her tighter, rubbing her back, and Ada let herself cry. Why was she crying so much - oh.

"Are you cramping?" Mom whispered.

Ada shook her head into her hair. She didn't think so. Heavy and full and now like she was wearing a diaper, but not cramping, she thought. The bedroom door creaked open and Ada buried her face further, unable to turn around. God, Dad. Couldn't he leave them alone just for once? Why did he have to follow them every where like a lost puppy?

But she felt Mom's arm, swinging, waving him away, and the door shut again. Ada smiled a bit, her tears drying. Dad was so obvious: confused by why his wife and daughter would want to be alone without him, frightened by the sight of two hugging and crying females, but not able to ignore a command from Mom.

Mom pushed her away slightly, and pushed her hair out of her face. Mom. Her hair was really getting gray now (she refused to dye it, how embarrassing!) and her eyes had little lines around them. But her eyes were still soft. "Did you find everything you needed? If there's blood on your pajamas, too, don't forget to put them to soak."

Rolling her eyes, Ada nodded. Here we go. The speech.

"Do you want to talk about it? Do you have any questions?" Mom asked.

Ada looked at her carefully, trying to gage what she meant. "Don't you want to talk doubt it?"

Smiling and shrugging, Mom said, "I think you're old enough now and intelligent enough that you don't need one of my silly little speeches. You understand the implications. You don't like it when I make a fuss over you."

A new sob welled up, that her mother really did understand her after all, and Ada pulled her back in. "Oh, Mom, I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Mom whispered. The sat on the bed, hugging, Ada crying, even Mom sniffling a bit although Ada couldn't understand what she had to be all worked up about.

Then Ada thought of something. "Mom?" She pulled away quickly in a panic. "Does this mean it's done? Puberty? Does this mean I'll never get any boobs?"

* * *

God, he was so . . . inevitable. Mom was never shocked and Dad was too easy to shock. What a pair.

Ada could feel his eyes on her, the way he slowly rotated his neck to watch her as she went to the kitchen to get her cereal. She could practically hear his mind churning, the questions forming and lingering:  _Why did she go to our bedroom? Why was she hugging Amy? Why was she in our bed? Was she crying? Why was she crying? Will she tell me? Will I have to ask Amy? Will Amy tell me? Yes, of course she will._  That last question popped away, of course. Ada was under no illusions that her father would not know of, and be distressed by, her new condition by the end of the day. She sighed as she poured the milk. Well, at least he could be counted on to be too embarrassed to talk to her about it.

Without words, she went to sit by him on the sofa, holding her bowl of cereal, crossing her legs. "This isn't  _Star Trek_ ," she finally said.

"Computer, stop playback. Play latest episode of  _Star Trek: Legacy_ ," Dad called. As Siri complied, Dad said, "I was waiting for you."

"It's okay. I've seen it, remember? We all watch it together on Wednesdays, when it's on," Ada said. Belle came over to investigate the delicious white liquid in her bowl, and Ada waved her away.

"But you and I always watch _Star Trek t_ ogether. Every Saturday morning," Dad protested. "It's your favorite. You love Captain Spock."

Ada tilted her head in agreement. It was true that she love this particular incarnation of the famous franchise the most, primarily because of the charter of Hadiya Spock, the beautiful and confident daughter of Uhura and Mr. Spock. What Ada enjoyed most was how much like an iceberg she was: smooth and cold to the naked eye but jagged and passionate beneath the surface.

"Plus," her father continued through the opening scene, "I have devised the most challenging Counterfactual question based on this episode to ask you afterwards. It almost stumped your mother."

"Huh," Ada said, managing not to laugh. That was highly unlikely. Dad and Mom had been playing the same game of Counterfactuals for decades without a victor. The only way one of them would stump the other is if the other person were dead.

Uh, that's morbid. And sad. A wave of emotion passed over her, followed by a wave of frustration. Damn period! Was this how it was going to be?

Then Dad licked his lips. "Do you not want to watch  _Star Trek_ with me anymore?"

Ada turned at looked him, so predictable in his plaid pajamas and robe. (Eww, that he put on to come out to watch TV. Because he was naked in bed. With Mom. Gross.) She smiled. "I can't imagine doing anything else."

He nodded and turned back toward the screen. Ada finished her cereal, tipping the bowl up to drink the last of the milk with a loud slurp - Dad hated that and thus she made sure to always do it - and then leaned forward to set her bowl on the coffee table.

Looking at him him out of the corner of her eye, Ada could almost see the tension in the way he sat. Something unusual had happened, something out of the ordinary, something he didn't understand, and it weighed upon him. She wove her arms around his and leaned in with her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Dad."

She felt him relax slightly. "I love you, too." A pause. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Then she grinned to herself. "But I'll be better if I ever get some boobs."

As his arm jerked, Ada smiled toward the screen. God, her parents. Such nerds.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	117. What Dreams May Come

**_Note the date!_ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**November 2033**

**Primary Topic: _What Dreams May Come_  by Richard Matheson**

**Additional Book(s) Mentioned: _Somewhere in Time_  by Richard Matheson,  _The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night-Time_  by Mark Haddon,  _Five Quarters of the Orange_  by Joanne Harris**

* * *

Unable to remember when she'd last looked this bad, Sheldon frowned. Her skin looked sallow, and she had started to even break out with acne like a teenager. Dark circles had moved in under her newly dull eyes. One day after work he found her, lost in her own thoughts, and he realized by looking at her limp and slightly greasy hair that she'd even neglected to shower that morning.

He imagined her looking bad the day of Stuart's Halloween party, but he hadn't actually seen her until she showed up looking like a very determined Melody Malone. After MeeMaw died? Ashamed, he knew he hadn't been looking at all. After the earthquake? No, she'd had the placid calm shock that a concussion brought. After Ada was born, those two weeks that almost broke them? Maybe. And yet, not; she felt purposeful then, he thought, even if she was overwhelmed by her purpose. That busy year she flew around the country, around the world, speaking, touring, convincing? No, despite the distance and how much they missed each other, it had been a very good year for her. That year Ada was eleven and she and Amy fought almost daily, the year Ada discovered curse words and stomped around and yelled that she hated her mother? Grim and hurt, yes, but she kept repeating it was just a phase. And so it was.

But now there was nothing useful to do, no discovery to name after herself and bring a sense of accomplishment, no concussion to dull the emotional pain. Amy was waiting. They were all waiting. Thanksgiving in Texas had been cancelled. The word Christmas had yet to be mentioned between them even though December first was tomorrow. Even Sheldon had canceled some speaking engagements for the new idea he'd written up and published that was starting to garner some positive attention. Amy protested, but he was firm. He would wait with her.

Because there is no worse wait than waiting for someone to die.

* * *

Amy suspected she had known for far longer than she said she knew. Or at least she had a suspicion that something was wrong. But for all the things Cynthia Fowler was, a complainer was not one of them. All she would say when she was asked about the pain in her rib was "awhile now, dear." The first sign that something was wrong was when she called and asked Amy to go to the doctor with her. She said she was afraid she'd forget something the doctor would say.

"She's never forgotten a thing in her life. She has a memory like an elephant," Amy had mumbled to Sheldon, her brow furrowed. Sheldon grunted in agreement, although he wasn't quite sure what elephants had to do with it.

Arriving home from picking up Ada from the first week of her senior year, listening to her excitement over the first meeting of the Japanese Club in which she presided as president, Sheldon instantly knew when he saw Amy sitting at the dining table: no book, no drink, no nothing. Just sitting.

"Ada, go down to see Raj and Stuart," he ordered, interrupting Ada's story.

"But, Dad, I have to -"

"I said go," he thundered. Ada's eyes widened. "Please, Ada, take your homework and go."

Perhaps it was the rarity of his roar, but Ada nodded and left, her backpack still slung over her shoulders. But, more likely, it was the lack of admonishment from Amy for his outburst.

"Amy?" he said softly, going over to her. She didn't reply. He pulled out the chair next to her and turned toward her. "Amy? Tell me."

"She's refusing treatment," Amy said, looking out the window and not at him. "She says she has lived a long and fulfilled life. She says . . . she says she refuses to be a burden to me."

Sheldon reached for her hand. "What is it?"

"Breast cancer. Stage Four, metastatic. Three to six months." This wasn't his Amy, this was some sort of robot.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I just got home about fifteen minutes ago. I needed time to process. Before I told Ada. Obviously I needed more time than I thought."

"Oh, Amy." He reached for her cheek and turned her toward him. "You don't think you can convince her?"

"No. She says she will stay at home as long as she can. She'd already researched hospice houses for the end. She  _knew_ , Sheldon. She knew even before we went to the specialist today. I - I - don't know what to do." Finally, Amy choked and Sheldon gathered her into his arms. "How will we tell Ada?"

"Shhh, shhhh," Sheldon soothed in her hair. "Ada is a very strong young woman. As are you. We'll make it through." He let her sob, her shoulders racking in his arms, and, once her tears had dried some, he said. "We'll bring her here. We won't let her die in a place where she is not . . . loved."

"But, Sheldon," Amy pulled away to look at him, tears staining her face, "it's what she wants. And we don't have the room."

"It's only what she thinks she wants because she is so independent, because she doesn't want to upset you." Sheldon licked his lips. "She can have Ada's room. Ada can stay with Raj and Stuart. She'll be moving out for college next year anyway." His heart shivered as he said it. "Only at the end, like she wants."

"But you don't like her," Amy said weakly.

"That's not true. It was true. I've grown to love her, in a way, even if she's still not my favorite person." He shrugged, looking down. "She is a wonderful grandmother." He looked back up. "Besides, it doesn't matter what I think. It's what we'll do. It's the right thing to do."

"Thank you." Amy squeezed his side. "But you don't have to. The hospice houses are very nice now, there is a trained staff -"

"No," he said firmly. "The nurses can come here, if need be." Then he took a deep breath as a tear slipped out. "I never got to say good-bye to my mother."

He had not expected to be so emotional, but the memories of that summer affected him every time he thought about them. Not that he allowed himself to think about them very often. The summer his mother died. The summer of the drought in Texas. The summer of the tornado. The summer Ada broke her arm.

* * *

It was not his memory playing a trick on him. He genuinely was not worried at the time. Thinking of her and slightly concerned, of course, but not worried. It was a routine out-patient angioplasty to clear a small blockage found during an annual physical. The percentage of blockage was just over the threshold for treatment, the risks were low.

Get-well-soon flowers had been pre-ordered. Sheldon had gone to work like normal, as had Amy. Ada was at summer enrichment camp, and she was already talking about school, so excited to start again. Not that he ever doubted her, but she had blossomed her first year. When it was determined before school started that she needed glasses, Amy worried that she would be called "four eyes" just as she had. When she seemed to lose all her baby teeth at an alarming rate of speed, leaving her with the same gappy smile Sheldon had had at that age, he had worried about the teasing she would endure for it. But neither of those things came to pass. Perhaps it was her height, but she really didn't look any younger than her classmates. She had adjusted quickly to diving into second grade with older children, and she had easily found her footing. That summer, at age six, having successfully completed her first year at school, she was an absolute delight. Although maybe still not considered a social butterfly, she had managed to make a few friends. Jacob was in her class and that was relief to both Sheldon and Amy. She had excelled academically and socially, and Sheldon envied her for finding both in her young life.

He was smiling, thinking of her, when his phone rang. Rang, not chimed.

"Computer?" he queried, turning away from the whiteboard in his office.

"Call from Missy," Siri replied.

"Accept," Sheldon instructed, walking toward his desk.

Five minutes later, Leonard had found him standing there, still holding his phone.

"Hey, buddy, I came to see how your mom is," Leonard said in a rush as he knocked on the open door and then stopped inside the door. "Whoa. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"My mother is dead," Sheldon whispered.

"What?" Leonard ran to his side.

"What is so difficult about that concept that you cannot grasp it? My mother is dead."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. Here, sit down. I'll call Amy . . ."

A summer drought in middle-America is unlike a drought anywhere else. It is both arid and damp at the same time. The ground turns dry and dusty and cracks form, yet the humidity is so thick it makes it hard to breath. The water vapor hangs in the air all around you, making you sweat, making your hair wet, and yet it refuses to fall. Wooden surfaces become sticky with trapped moisture. The heat index was well over a hundred every day by mid-morning that early August.

Even worse than the heat was the house. It felt strange and morbid to be sleeping in his old bedroom, in his old home, without his mother there. It was the house of a dead woman, and he suddenly saw it that way. Everything was dated and in disrepair. The appliances were so old they were rusting and only two burners on the stove worked. The basement stairs were in poor repair and one of the railings had completely broken off, leaving one side of the staircase dangerously exposed to the hard concrete of the basement floor beneath it. He frowned, angry at himself that he'd never noticed all these deathtraps on their visits, that he'd never bought his mother a new refrigerator or hired a contractor to figure out how to move the washing machine and dryer upstairs. It was always spotlessly clean; maybe his mother's hard work and warmth had blinded him to the faults of the house.

The neighborhood had also gone downhill overnight it seemed, although he realized it must have been a gradual change. Broken fences, chained dogs, cars on blocks in driveways. He understood why his sister and her husband had moved across town to a new subdivision with a bland but clean and safe ranch house.

On his second day, he left with Missy to go see the lawyer about the will. He hated going, he hated another reminder that his mother was dead. He hated leaving Amy and Ada in this neighborhood. His nephews would be there, too, as Amy had agreed to watch them, but even they weren't old enough provide any protection. Sheldon was angry that George hadn't come, even in response to multiple phone calls from Missy. His sister had informed him that their brother was off the wagon again, had been for a few months, but that she suspected he was missing because he was on a bender after their mother's death. Unfortunately, his brother was sinking ever further into alcoholism, and his absences had become the norm instead of the exception. But for some reason, that summer, something about his unknown whereabouts made Sheldon anxious. George's selfishness was yet another thing to be angry about, even when Amy tried to remind him that alcoholism was a disease.

He'd been short with her, he knew, and her placid acceptance of this and her silent forgiveness made him even more enraged at himself. Why did he have to go to the lawyer's, anyway? It was now painfully apparent to him that his mother had nothing of worth to leave behind. Amy offered to come with him, but Missy's husband was at work and then who would watch the kids?

The meeting was just as brief as Sheldon had suspected, because, as he conjectured, all his mother had was the house. The lawyer could have told him that over the phone. But that's where his expectations were turned on their head. She had left it all to him. Not to George, because he was the oldest. Not even to Missy, who would have been the most logical person to deal with it all. What on Earth had his mother been thinking, why did she think he would want that house now? What would he do with it, how would he manage all the legal implications from all the way out in California?

Things went from bad to worse on the way home. The air conditioning was broken in Missy's minivan and the humidity had seemed to rise even more while they were in the lawyer's office. A strong wind had picked up, but it only blew the hot air around them. Not to mention what a strong summer wind portended. As unwelcome as the news of his inheritance was to Sheldon, Missy was furious about it. She accused him of being lucky and being too smug to even realize it; telling her that there was no such thing as luck, that he had worked very hard to make his own life, only angered her further. There was no use trying to explain to her that he never wanted the house, that Sheldon had no use for it; she argued that he was rubbing her face in how successful and well off he was, that such a small amount of money was beneath him. That was not what he'd meant at all, but the heat and the confusion and the overwhelming loss of his mother drained the will to fight out of him.

He leaned his elbow on the open van window and rubbed the sweat off his face. All he wanted was to be back in the air conditioning with Amy, to talk it through with her. Only Amy would be able to help him make sense of it all. The silence and the heat were making him nauseous and he reached over to turn on the radio, wincing when a warbling country song came out of the speakers. He quickly turned it off, but then Missy reached over and turned it back on. Probably just to annoy him. He sighed loudly and went back to trying not to vomit out the car window.

"Rain!" he suddenly yelled, sitting up straight and pulling his elbow off the edge of the window.

"What?" Missy asked.

"I just felt a raindrop on my arm. Look! There's the line!" He leaned forward and pointed out dark cloud line in the windshield. "It's following us."

"And moving fast," Missy said, as the windshield was suddenly pelted with dozens of raindrops.

For a brief second, everything seemed better. It was pouring rain now, and Missy actually laughed as she rolled up the windows and turned on the windshield wipers. Then, just as quickly as it had changed the first time, their relief as interrupted by the three loud, long, and high-pitched tones from the radio.

"A tornado!" Sheldon shrieked.

"Jesus, Shelly, don't scare me like that," Missy admonished. "I about drove off the road." Sheldon glanced over at her, hunched over the wheel, her driving having slowed because of the poor visibility in the downpour. "Calm down. It could be anywhere in the county. And it's still raining."

His heart thumping, Sheldon reached up to wrap his hand around the seat belt and took several Kolinar breaths. Missy was correct: the pouring rain was a good sign. His experience told him that a tornado rarely came in a downpour. It was the eerie calm in the middle of a storm one should be concerned about.

Still . . . "Hurry up! We need to get home, to the basement!"

"I can't go any faster!"

"Amy and Ada are there alone!"

"What, and my sons are chopped liver?" Missy growled, but he noticed an uptick in her speed as the rain slowed some.

Sheldon reached forward, his palms pressing on the dashboard, wishing he could push the car faster, closer to his mother's house. Missy turned off the main street into the neighborhood and, now that the sounds of traffic had lessened, he could hear the baying of all those outside dogs. They were barking, every last one of them, as they passed.

"What's wrong with all these mutts?" Missy asked. Her sentence was punctuated with the screech of the wipers against the windshield. Suddenly, there wasn't enough rain to lubricate their path across the glass.

"Missy, the sky!"

He didn't need to yell it, as Missy slammed her foot on the gas and the minivan speed forward, running a four way stop, taking the turn onto his mother's street at high speed. Once you have seen a tornado sky, you never forget it, that greenish cast, the absence of clouds, the feeling in the air that makes the hair of your neck stand on end. He was out of the van before it had even fully skidded to a halt in front of the house, his long legs propelling him toward the front door, a prayer under his breath for his wife and daughter. The screen door snapped and pulled out of his hands as the wind caught it, but he never noticed.

"Amy! Ada!"

Running fast, running scared, opening the basement door, his sister calling "Levi! Ezra!" behind him. At the last minute he remembered and yelled to her, "Watch the stairs! The railing is gone!" Down the steps he rushed, collapsing into the huddle of warmth, all the breath he'd been holding escaping into the soft arms of his wife and daughter.

"It's alright, Sheldon," Amy soothed. "We've been down here the whole time."

"Dad! Is it a tornado?" Ada tugged at his sleeve. "Hold me up, so I can see it out the window!"

"Absolutely not!" Sheldon said, glancing toward the tiny basement escape window, high on the concrete block wall. The sight of the sky made him nauseous all over again. "We should sit over there with Aunt Missy -" his sister and his nephews had already unfolded the woven lawn chairs and Missy was reaching for the flashlights, although the the power was still on "- as that's the furthest corner from the window."

Amy squeezed his hand and he squeezed it back. It would all be fine now. He'd weathered many a tornado down in the basement before, sitting on the lawn chairs, failing to interest his siblings in playing Battleship with him. In retrospect, the merciless teasing he had endured from their boredom was worse than any storm.

It wasn't clear who heard it first; they all seemed to hear it at the same time. The sound of a door slamming and heavy footfalls on the floor above them. They all stopped and looked up. There was silence in the basement now, no footsteps, only the howling of the wind and the droning of the tornado siren outside.

"Did you lock the front door?" Sheldon whispered accusingly to his sister.

"Yes, I stopped in the middle of a life-threatening storm and a hysterical twin brother to worry about the front door!" Missy shot back.

Sheldon started to turn toward the stairs, but Amy pulled at him. "Leave it, Sheldon."

"But what if they're robbing us blind?" he asked.

"It's not worth any of our lives," she replied, and then they all jumped when they heard something hit the side of the house.

"Very well," he grumbled.

Then the footsteps started again, clearly walking toward the basement door. "What do we do now?" Sheldon whispered.

"Maybe they just want some shelter," Amy suggested.

"I should have brought my shotgun," Levi, his eldest nephew, said.

Ada gasped next to him. "You have a _gun_?"

Before Levi could respond, the basement door opened and they all turned. "Hello?" Missy called.

"I should have known you'd all be hiding like a bunch of pussies," the slurred words came.

"George," the adults all muttered in unison.

It should have been a relief, that the stranger upstairs was just his older brother, not a thief. A relief that George had finally shown up, a relief that maybe his brother would make an appearance at their mother's funeral tomorrow. But for some reason, it just exasperated Sheldon's anger further. He stormed up the stairs, two at time, stopping near the top.

George was on the top step. His clothes were dirty and his face was unshaven and he reeked of alcohol. Sheldon's noise turned up in disgust. How dare he show up here, now, in that condition, in front of his wife and child!

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"What does it look like?" George swayed a bit with the effort of the words and put his hand out on the wall to steady himself. "Saying hello to my runt of my brother. Hello, retard."

"I'm two inches taller than you. And you need to leave," Sheldon said, his throat tightening. How dare George -

"Shelly, let him stay until the storm passes," Missy called.

Sheldon turned to look down at her through the open gap above the stairs. Of course she would take his side. She always had. It had always been George and Missy versus Sheldon. There had never been a special twin bond between he and his sister. He was always the outsider, he was always outnumbered, and he'd always paid the price.

"You smell bad."

His own childhood evaporated as he turned, all the air leaving his body. How had he missed her approach? "Ada, what are you doing? Get down! Go back down with your mother!"

Ada stood just one step behind him, looking so young and fragile. "Don't you know it's rude to call people retarded? It's not even accurate."

"Well, looky here," George slurred. "Little Ada! Aren't you a chip off the old block?" He stretched forward, squeezing past Sheldon to tug at one of Ada's two braids.

"Don't touch her!" Sheldon yelled, pushing back against George as his brother swayed from the combined effects of bending over and his inebriation.

"Yeah, whatcha you gonna do about it, pussy?" George bellowed, shoving Sheldon's shoulder.

There was a whistling sound in Sheldon's head that he associated with anger, but, in retrospect, was coming from outside. "Get out of this house!"

"Make me!" Another shove. The lights dimmed for just a second. "But you won't! You'll send in the little wifey to do your manly work again. She's the only one with the balls to throw a punch."

Sheldon's fist curled at his side, even though he'd probably never use it, despite George's taunts, just as he never had as a child. "Do. _Not._  Talk about my wife like that. Get out and don't ever come back!"

"Or what?" A harder shove. The lights flickered this time and Sheldon heard a gasp from the basement below. "It's not your house, retard."

It snapped inside of him, all those years of torment, the selfishness of his brother, the loss of his mother, the anxiety about the storm, the sight of his daughter's braids being pulled, the things he said about Amy. "Oh, but it is now, and I told you to GET OUT!"

The whistling of the approaching tornado filled the basement and there was a loud cracking sound from somewhere in the house, but all everyone noticed was the swing of Sheldon's arm.

A swing, George trying to duck but too inebriated to make it out in time, the contact of Sheldon's fist against his brother's forehead, the pain radiating up Sheldon's fingers, the other hand reaching out to grab the wall to steady himself on the stairs . . .

"Stop it!" yelled Amy . . . "Watch out!" yelled Missy . . . "Fight!" yelled his nephews . . . the lights flickered again . . . three more blasts from the tornado siren . . . George lurching forward with his arms outstretched, ramming into Sheldon's shoulder . . . and the scream from Ada that still haunted his dreams, her little thin body teetering on the stairs as George's free hand reached out to grab her, to grab anything . . . and then falling off the side where the handrail should have been, down, down, down onto the concrete floor of the basement, the lights flickering like a strobe light around her body as it fell and then everything went dark at the same time as she landed with thud. A second of only silence and blackness, the absence of her scream worse than its presence.

"Ada!" He heard Amy as she rushed to Ada's side, but Sheldon only felt the bile rising in his throat as he remained rooted in one spot, watching the beams of the flashlights swing and surround the body on the floor. He didn't even notice if George fell, too, or if he caught himself in time. It was said that one's life passed before one's eyes when death approached, which Sheldon always believed to be pseudo-philosophical poppycock. But, in that exact second, it all came rushing before him, the sorrows and joys, the sight of a dark-haired baby sliding from between Amy's thighs . . .

He saw Amy slowly roll her now moaning daughter over, shushing, "Careful, Ada, gently," and there was a collective gasp as the sight of her left forearm, bent and dangling at an unnatural angle. There was blood running out of her bottom lip.

"Ada!" He was able to move finally, and he ran, ran like the wind still howling outside, down the stairs, even in the dark, scooping up his broken daughter, carrying her to the car, Amy running behind him with a flashlight, holding her all the way to the hospital in the downpour, past the funnel cloud dissipating in the distance, past the damaged houses, rocking and crying in the back seat with her, running and carrying her into the ER. It was only after they'd pried her away from him, that she was rolled away from them to be repaired, when Amy collapsed into his arms, that he realized his brother had left in the pandemonium. That he knew he never wanted to see him again.

* * *

Sheldon stood in the hallway, studying his mother's paintings, listening to Amy softly sing Soft Kitty to Ada. Finally she came out, shutting the door to his sister's old room behind her.

"She's asleep," she whispered unnecessarily. Poor Ada, obviously still in pain, her new cast glaring in the sunlight at the burial just an hour ago. Sheldon had told Amy that she shouldn't come, that he would go to his mother's funeral without them, but Amy had insisted that he shouldn't be alone for that, that it was important for Ada to have that closure. He disagreed, but he didn't have the energy to argue about it. Look what happened the last time he'd argued with someone.

When he told Amy he didn't want to go to the meal afterwards at Missy's house, she'd nodded her head and they had returned to put Ada down for a nap, although her pain medications had her asleep before they even arrived. Now, still in her black dress, Amy came and put her arms around his waist. "How are you holding up?"

Sheldon shrugged. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "This has been one of the worst weeks of my life."

Amy pressed her head closer to him, and Sheldon gave silent thanks for her presence. He knew she understood. They didn't say anything, the whole experience yesterday was still too raw and traumatic to discuss, and Sheldon continued to study the painting in front of him. "I don't understand this one," he finally said.

"Why?" Amy asked.

"They're all famous landmarks of East Texas," Sheldon said, waving his hand. "But I don't recognize this one." He sighed. "I realize I never asked her what it was."

It was from different the others, its colors cool and soothing unlike the hot yellows and oranges of the other landscapes. It was a large white house with a wraparound porch, shaded by trees and large soft green lawn and bright red flowers in window boxes. Not a connoisseur of art, Sheldon thought perhaps a critic would say its subject matter was too simple and trite. Nonetheless, its inclusion here, amongst the harsher sights of his childhood, confused him and thus drew him to it.

"Did she ever put a label on the back with the name?" Amy asked. "Or do they only do that in art museums?"

Sheldon glanced at her a moment and then reached forward, carefully lifting the framed painting off the nail. He turned it over and saw in his mother's handwriting, faded with age:  _My dream home._

Swallowing away a sob, the optimism struck him especially hard. This was his mother's unfulfilled dream. Suddenly, he felt just as lucky as Missy accused him of being: of finding Amy, of having Ada, that it was only a broken arm and a split lip, that he didn't have to stay here, in this house, in this neighborhood, in this life. He said, "Will you call and change our flight? I want to leave as soon as possible. Tonight if we can."

Amy turned sharply next to him. "Leave? Now? But what about the house? You have to decide what to do with it. I told you it's your decision, Sheldon, it's your home."

He shook his head. "I'll give it to Missy. She wants it. I don't." Another swallow as he looked down at the beautiful, tranquil dream home his mother never obtained before he tucked the painting under his arm. "I'll take this. There's nothing else here for me anymore."

* * *

That winter, Missy again called unexpectedly to tell Sheldon that George's body had been found in an alley after a freak Texan snowstorm. It was believed some combination of alcohol poisoning and hypothermia had led to his demise. Over Missy's pleading, Sheldon felt no urge to go home, no need to go through the meaningless rituals for his brother. Instead, he told Missy that he would help pay for whatever funeral she saw fit. He felt completely blank inside.

Perhaps it was the freshness of the scar, and not just the bright pink line radiating just a few millimeters from Ada's lower lip. She had recovered completely within a couple of days that summer, showing off her cast proudly at Leonard and Penny's after they returned, enthralling Jacob and the others with the story. Amy had tried to get her to stop telling it, but the words "gun" and "tornado" and "drunk" were so foreign to their sheltered children that it was impossible to get her to stop sharing her tale. Even Sheldon, in all his residual anger at George, was forced to admit she told it well, with just the right pacing and drama and suspense.

Preparing for an argument, Sheldon informed Amy in one quick sentence about George's untimely death and his decision that they would not be going to Texas. Then he took a deep breath, crossed his arms, and said, "I know that you disagree. I know that you will point out, with a biologist's logic, that alcoholism is a disease for which he inherited the propensity for from my father. I know that you think I'm being unfair and rash. I know that you think I'll regret this in the long run. Perhaps you even think I owe it to Missy to return home, to assist her with this. And I'm sure you've thought all along I've held too great a grudge about Ada's arm, because it could have been so much worse and a broken bone is not unusual in childhood. I know you've wanted to tell me it was just an accident and I should forgive him ever since that day. But -"

"Shhh, Sheldon," Amy had reached up to touch his crossed arm, her eyes soft, "please stop. All I want you to know is that I support your decision." Then she looked away slightly. "That afternoon, seeing Ada like that . . . it didn't feel like an accident to me, either."

Now, the years having passed, Sheldon took his family home every November for Thanksgiving and they saw Missy's family at occasional important functions. They had never been close, but they are mature enough be civil and cordial and set good examples for their own children. Sheldon was able to see she was a good mother, even if she believed the same religious myths their mother had, and he admitted that he was pleased when she took his suggestion and used the money from the sale of their childhood home to set up a college fund for her sons.

Now, the scar on Ada's chin having shrunk with her growth and faded to the palest of pink, Sheldon still didn't feel any regret that he didn't go home for George's funeral. He did, however, occasionally regret that they'd never had a conversation to make peace, that he'd never spoke to his brother even in those months when he went to the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and held down a job. He did not verbalize this even to Amy, but he wanted his wife to have all the conversations she needed with her mother, while there was still time.

* * *

Ada's room was dim with the blinds drawn and Amy was holding her iKindle, but Sheldon knew she wasn't really reading. The end was coming soon, now, he thought. Cynthia, lying in the hospital bed where Ada's bed used to be, was nothing but skin and bones, and she slept all but a couple of hours a day. When she was awake, you never knew if she'd be lucid or not. The lucidity was coming less often now. In so many ways, she was already gone.

"Amy?" Sheldon said softly.

"Hmmmm?" she turned.

He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder to still her movements. She was sitting in the old rocking chair they had bought before Ada arrived, and it had always stayed in her room. Rocking for both new life and dying life. "Why don't you take a break?"

"I'm fine. Someone needs to be with her until the night nurse comes."

"Ada will sit here for a while." He squeezed her shoulder. "Come on, Amy." When there was no response, he used the most potent allure he knew. "It's Book Club Night. You love Book Club Nights."

Amy turned toward him then and gave a weak smile. "Ada will sit with her?"

"She's right outside." Sheldon pointed toward the door and Ada entered on cue. "It's okay, Mom. I'll stay."

They had been so worried about Ada's reaction to this sorrowful upheaval in her life, and yet she had squared her shoulders and faced this challenge like she faced any other: with dignity and strength. Just like her grandmother. Not that she wasn't heartbroken; they had heard her sobbing in her room more than once, but Ada liked to be alone when she was sad, and they allowed her that peace.

Sheldon took Amy's hand and led her away from the dim room. It was early for Book Club, but he wanted there to be some sun left in the great room, something cheery and warm for his wife.

"Why don't you sit in your reading chair? In the sunroom? I'll make us some tea." Amy didn't argue, which was only a sign of her fatigue, he thought. But she relaxed into her Eames chair, stretching her legs out onto the footrest, and closed her eyes to the deep sunset rays while Sheldon made the tea.

"Is it too bright? Should I lower the glare shades?" he asked, handing her a mug.

"No." Amy opened her eyes and smiled as Belle hopped up onto her lap. Not the sad, soft smile she was giving lately, an actual Amy smile. "It feels good, warm." She reached for her tea with one hand while petting the cat with the other. "Thank you, Sheldon, this is just what I needed."

"You've been working too hard," Sheldon said, pulling out his desk chair and rolling it closer to her before sitting down.

"I feel like I've not been working at all. I took leave to be with her and the nurses do all the work. I just sit and read to her sometimes." Then she frowned. "Not that she seems to notice, anymore."

"I'm sure she knows on some level," Sheldon said. "Even a person in a coma - never mind." He took a drink of tea.

"It's okay, Sheldon, I'm still a scientist. I'm not breakable. I can talk about this logically, too. I have to discuss it with the hospice nurses frequently."

"I know." He sighed. "I may have mislead you a little."

"What? How?" Amy sat up a little straighter in her chair, causing Belle to rearrange.

"I did want to give you a break, to let you relax in your favorite chair in the sun and talk to you. But I'm not actually eager for Book Club," he admitted.

"Ah." Amy sat back. "I'm sorry, it was an awful pick. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I presumed you picked it because death was on your mind," Sheldon said softly.

"Hmm, maybe subconsciously. But would you be surprised to learn my conscious reason?" Sheldon nodded. "Remember when we read _Somewhere in Time_?"

"Of course."

"It was such a happy time. I remember sitting on the beach, in the sun, on those chairs, the way you talked about it . . . I guess I wanted to recapture that, somehow. And this book is often referenced as the companion to  _Somewhere in Time_."

Sheldon smiled. What a wonderful long weekend that had been. They had never had a traditional honeymoon, and, in some ways, he felt that was theirs. Even better than a traditional honeymoon, because he felt that they'd earned it, not just by having some party, but by making it through a difficult time and coming out stronger in the end. "That was after MeeMaw died, so perhaps it was not as different as you think."

"Maybe not." Amy took a drink of tea. "We don't have to discuss it much. I just don't want to you feel like we've left something undone." Sheldon's heart pattered a bit for her. "I presume you hated it."

"Permission to speak freely?"

Amy chuckled, and he realized how much he'd missed it. "Always."

"This is the worst book I've ever read. Period."

"Really?" Amy said. "Worse than  _The Curious Incident of the Dog in Nighttime_? Worse than  _Five Quarters of the Orange_?"

"Yes. I didn't like those books either, but at least they were based on facts. This was the most ridiculous, flighty, purely illogical hypothetical claptrap I've ever read." It all came out in a rush, and he wondered if he's said too much. He buried his face in his mug.

"Would it make you feel better to know I agreed?" Amy asked.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Sheldon reached forward and put his palm on her thigh. "I was so worried that you were getting religious now."

A laugh. A genuine laugh and even her eyes lit up for him. "No. First of all, Mother would disapprove. She had no room in her life for faith."

"I wonder why not," Sheldon said, sitting back in his chair.

Amy shrugged. "She had faith once, I think, in something misguided. And it failed her. Because there was no way it couldn't. But in the midst of that blinding need, she couldn't see the truth. She never believed in a single thing after that." Amy took a breath. "Not even chemotherapy."

Taking few sips of tea in a row, Sheldon thought about issuing a moratorium on such depressing statements, but he decided against it. He would let Amy talk about what she wanted to, to say what she needed to say. She was correct, she was a scientist and she was perfectly capable of having a conversation about her mother and death and faith and even religion if she desired. And, as his goal was really just to sit down and talk to her, he wouldn't say or do anything to impede that. He decided, instead, to return to the book at hand. "Did you like how this book was written? I remember being, um, moved, I guess -" Amy's lips turned up "- by the writing in the other book, there were passages that I found very . . . touching. And, yet, here, I did not feel that as much. Which is strange, because the protagonist is much more vocal about his love here."

"Maybe that's what you didn't like. That you were repeatedly told by him much he loved his wife. I, too, like it better when love is described and not just stated. Sometimes it's just the little things, like a certain look or touch or moment of understanding between the characters."

"Yes, I think that's it." Sheldon smiled. "Did I ever tell you how good you are this Book Club thing?"

"Never enough," Amy smiled back. "Here, hand me my book. I'm trapped under a cat." Sheldon turned and reached for her iKindle, that she'd sat on the edge of the desk when she walked in. "It's hokey, but there is a passage I liked." She put her head down and started to read. "'"You feel so strongly about each other because you're soul mates." I didn't know how to take that, how to react. I'd heard the phrase, of course, but in the most banal of ways, within the context of trivial ballads and poetry. "What it means, literally," Albert said, "is that you both possess the same wavelength, your auras are in vibratory unison." Reaction failed me still. What good was knowing this if it didn't help Ann? "That's why you fell in love with her so quickly when you met her on the beach that day," Albert had continued. "Your soul was celebrating a reunion with her."'"

"Do you believe that?" Sheldon asked. "Do you really believe that there are true soul mates?"

"In the sense of this book, in which the same two souls repeatedly find each other again and again in different lives throughout history? No, because I don't believe in reincarnation or rebirth, as it's called here," Amy shook her head. "However, there are times I feel we're on the same wavelength."

"Just times?" Sheldon raised an eyebrow.

Amy leaned forward to grasp his hand, and Belle leapt down. She didn't even have to reply, Sheldon knew.

"On the whole, I found this book too meandering with a lot of unnecessary details. Not to mention the obvious belief in an afterlife," Sheldon said. "Because he's a science fiction writer, I was also disappointed in Matheson's version of heaven. If you're going to write such a wildly fictional book, why wouldn't you write something new and inventive? This heaven was just stereotypical heaven without the wings and harps."

"There would be harps in my heaven," Amy said simply.

"Mine, too," Sheldon replied softly. For some reason, he thought of his mother's painting, the one they hung by the front door. Sitting on that porch, in that shade, that green lawn, those red flowers, listening to Amy play the harp . . .Then he cleared his throat. "However, there were a couple of lines I marked. Would you like me to read them?"

"Of course." Amy shifted in her chair, tucking her legs up under her and handing Sheldon her empty mug. He sat it on the desk as he reached for his own book. "The times I'd heard Ann say 'If you died, I'd die too. If you went first, I don't think I could make it.'" He pressed his thumb to turn the page. "And this: '"The death of someone with whom a person has been long and closely associated leaves a literal vacuum in that person's life," Albert said. "The streams of psychic energy directed toward the lost someone now have no object."'"

He looked at Amy's face, soft and glowing in the sunset, her head tilted slightly as she absorbed what he said. "I'm surprised you picked it, because of the mention of psychic energy," she said finally.

"It reminded of a quote by Richard Feyman. He wrote a letter to his wife after she passed away, and he wrote, 'You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.'"

Amy sighed softly. "That's beautiful. Sad, but beautiful."

Sheldon nodded. "Would you remarry if I died tomorrow?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" Amy jerked up. "You are not dying tomorrow. No, I you are not allowed to die before me. I forbid it."

"You can't forbid it. You don't have that power over death," Sheldon pointed out.

"No." Amy leaned back into the chair. "But if I have the power over my own death, I won't let you spend weeks or months or even years taking care of me. I want to go quickly. If there's a moment, a second, that a decision is to be made, Sheldon, promise me you'll let me go."

"Like a DNR?" Sheldon asked.

"Even more than that. If I am elderly and there a choice to be made, do not prolong the inevitable."

"I promise," Sheldon said, not pointing out she was asking for the exact same thing she couldn't understand her mother asking for. "Although, perhaps, for legal reasons, we ought to get that down in writing." Amy nodded. "I feel the same. I used to want my brain kept alive to live forever in a robot body, but I feel that technological advancement will not come in my lifetime. In addition, I do not want to be a lonely robot."

"Oh, Sheldon," Amy said softly.

"I guess that's why I marked those pages. I understood that, I understand Feyman. My wish is that we die together."

Amy put her legs on floor and leaned forward in the chair to take both of Sheldon's hands. "Enough," she said softly. "We are not that old yet. Yes, we should put our wishes in writing, for Ada, for each other. But enough of this discussion." She sat back. "Tell me all the gossip from Caltech. I miss it."

Squeezing her hand, Sheldon leaned back and told Amy about his work and the conversations in the cafeterias. The sun sunk even lower in the west and the shadows became deeper with approaching twilight as they discussed science and their friends and a new movie and they grinned and laughed.

Too soon, though, they heard foot steps.

"It's getting dark in here," Ada said approaching them.

"How's Mother?" Amy asked sitting up straighter.

"She's awake. And very lucid. We just had a long conversation. She'd asking for you now, though," Ada explained, and Sheldon noticed the uncharacteristic way Ada rubbed her fingernail down the side of her thumb. He tilted his head in confusion.

"Oh." Amy scrambled up, and he watched her rush toward the bedroom. He stood himself and picked up their dirty mugs to take to the dishwasher.

"Dad," Ada reached out and put her hands on the mugs, "I think you should go with her."

"Why?" he asked, barely having to look down at his tall daughter.

"Mom needs you. Just go," Ada said and then he understood.

Sheldon nodded and passed over the mugs, going to join his wife.


	118. The Beach

**The Beach**

* * *

_"She's awake. And very lucid. We just had a long conversation. She'd asking for you now, though," Ada explained, and Sheldon noticed the uncharacteristic way Ada rubbed her fingernail down the side of her thumb. He tilted his head in confusion._

_"Oh." Amy scrambled up, and he watched her rush toward the bedroom. He stood himself and picked up their dirty mugs to take to the dishwasher._

_"Dad," Ada reached out and put her hands on the mugs, "I think you should go with her."_

* * *

That night, the evening they told her, the evening they'd come home to find Mom frozen at the dining table, Ada was awoken by a particularly horrid dream, already sobbing. Then there was light knock on the door and a hand starting brushing her hair. But when she looked up, it was Dad.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she sniffled.

"Vulcan hearing," he said. "And I've been listening for your cries in the middle of the night for fifteen and half years now." He licked his lips in the dark. "Would you rather have your mother? I could wake her."

_Yes._ She wanted her mother very much at that moment. But she could not ask for that, could not ask for her mother now, her mother who was more affected than she was, her mother than she knew without asking was only just asleep after many restless hours. In that insistent, Ada decided she would not complain or mop about; Mom didn't need that worry, too, and Grandmother wouldn't approve of such behavior. She would square her shoulders and she would accept this burden not just because she's didn't have the choice, but because maybe her strength would give her mother strength, too.

Lying in action, Ada shook her head at her father and sat up to curl closer to him, and she let him hold just as he had when she was a small child, his arms wrapped around her, her head tucked under his chin. Once she was there, though, Dad was enough, and Ada cried in silence with him rubbing her back.

* * *

She knew they were jealous, they had told her so with wide eyes and whispered voices. "You mean you'll have a key to both apartments? And you can come and go between them whenever you want? Think how easy it would be sneak out!"

Ada just shook her head at Sophie and Harper over lunch in the cafeteria. It wasn't like that. And not just because Grandmother was dying and she was going to give up her bedroom to hospice care and spend the nights sleeping in Uncle Raj and Stuart's guest room until . . . until the inevitable. It felt selfish to talk too much about her grandmother's cancer. Almost every one had experienced cancer or death or some other tragedy in their families; she was not alone in her class. Plus, she knew that Grandmother would not want to be the stuff of gossip and drama.

Only Jacob had understood, how packing a bag of clothes and sleeping in a bed and room that weren't really yours was not something to enjoy. Even if you loved the persons whose house you were going to, even if you had slept in that bed dozens of times before . . . it was the feeling of being uprooted. Plus, she could not share the couple of times her father had come in at midnight, after some particularly bad turn of Grandmother's illness, leaving one crying woman to hold another. As much as she adored her uncles, as warm as their hugs were, they wouldn't do. They weren't her father.

"I hated spending the night at Mom's," he'd said, as they sat together on Leonard and Penny's back porch on Friday night. "And it wasn't even about my mom, you know? It was about being forced into this other bed, without a choice." Nodding, Ada let him continue. Somehow, years ago, he'd found peace with his parents. "It's a lot better now, I don't have to spend the night. We can just go to lunch and a movie or something."

She wondered if he'd add the obvious, the open secret that Bernadette periodically came to spend the night at his house. But he didn't. Younger Jacob had loved to tease her about her lack of knowledge when it came to sex and relationships, older Jacob just assumed she knew everything he did. Because she did. Then he said, softly, "I'm really sorry about your grandmother, Ada."

"Thank you," Ada replied.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No."  _Come over at night and keep me company._

He wouldn't even have to speak, just as they weren't now, sitting in silence after such a deep conversation. It was strange, this silence with Jacob. She didn't really understand it, but she always appreciated it later. She supposed it was the mark of true friendship.

Now, four weeks into the half-existence, Ada found herself at home, reading on the sofa with Belle, wishing this was not her new normal. She still came home first and did her homework as before, but Mom usually left after a few words to spend the evening with Grandmother. Ada would help Dad make dinner, and they'd try to keep conversation going while Mom sat at the table and picked at her plate. Even things had changed with Belle. Now that And was sleeping downstairs at Raj and Stuart's, this was only time for cuddles on the couch with her cat before she left again. Her feline friend was forced out of her old bedroom and had taken up in her parents' bed. Ada wondered if she'd ever get her back.

"Ada?"

"Hmmm?" She looked up, startled, at Dad's approach.

"May I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure."

"Would you mind sitting awhile with your grandmother? I want to get your mother out of that room. I'm - I'm worried about her." He looked away at the end, which Ada knew belied both his embarrassment at sharing his emotions with her and how very worried about Mom he was.

"Of course." Ada nodded and closed the cover of her iKindle. "Now or later when the night shift nurse comes?"

"Now. I don't want to wait for the nurse. I'm hoping I can get her to enjoy the sunset. Plus you know she never relaxes when they're here, either. Do you think I should reheat some dinner for her?"

Lifting Belle off her lap and standing, Ada asked, "Do you think she'd eat it this time?"

Dad sighed, and Ada heard the weight of the world in it. She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, and she saw his eyebrows go up in surprise. It was true that Mom looked awful lately, but Dad wasn't looking that great either. It felt like an endless chain of worry in this place now: Mom worried about Grandmother, Dad worried about Mom, Ada worried about all of them, and - based on the sheer quantity of baked goods presented to her every morning for breakfast - Raj and Stuart worried about her. She said softly, "What are you going to lure her out with?"

Dad looked at her for a moment and then answered, "Book Club."

Ada smiled. God, her parents. Such nerds. "That should do it."

* * *

After her parents left, her father's plan having worked just as he hoped, Ada settled into the old rocking chair with her book. She thought about reading aloud to Grandmother as she had early in her illness, when Grandmother would listen thoughtfully and occasionally interrupt to ask Ada her thoughts on a particular passage. But now she seemed to be either asleep or not quite aware. The moments of lucidity were becoming less frequent and shorter in duration.

Losing track of time between the pages, Ada read silently, the words forming pictures in her brain, just like she was rapidly scanning the frames of a comic book. Just as she's always seen her books. Until she heard a noise from the bed and looked up.

"Grandmother?" she asked, quickly getting out of the chair to lean over the hospital bed.

"Amy?" Grandmother struggled to say.

"No, it's me. Ada," she said, taking the boney hand.

"Ada."

"Yes. Would you like some water? Or some Ensure? Are you in pain?"

"You sound just like your mother."

Biting off the instinct to frown, because she was always being told she sounded like Mom or looked like Dad, Ada said, "I know. People tell me that all the time."

The frail woman turned her head slightly and Ada smiled down at her. Should she ask again about the water? Had she not heard or had she already forgotten it had been asked?

"Your hair." In reflex, Ada's free hand went up to touch the locks that had fallen forward over her shoulder. "I had hair like that once."

Smiling, Ada said, "I know. Remember when I used to come to your house and you'd show me all those old pictures?"

"Don't ever cut it."

"But I already did. Remember, the summer I was thirteen? I cut it all off because I wanted to look like Audrey Hepburn in  _Roman Holiday_  and  _Sabrina_. Mom begged me not to and we fought about it, and then I hated it right away. It only made me look like a boy, even more like Dad."

Grandmother managed a small smile. "You drove home in stormy silence because neither of you wanted to give the other the safistrction of seeing you cry, and then you both slammed your bedroom doors and sobbed about your lost hair."

Ada's eyebrows went up. "We did?"

A minuscule nod. "Yes. Maybe that was a secret. I can't remember now. Anyway, you both told me the same story." Something that almost sounded like a chuckle. "I imagine your poor father standing in the hallway, looking confused."

Ada nodded. "Dad's always lost when Mom and I act emotional."

Although weak, there was squeeze of Ada's hand. "You're very fortunate to have him. He is a wonderful father. Never forget that." Her voice was sounding very strong tonight, that statement almost came out sternly.

Chastised, Ada looked down. "I know." She looked up. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson about my hair. I'll never get it cut again. It's a good thing it grows so fast."

"And your mother," Grandmother went on, "you're very lucky to have her, too. She's a far better mother than I ever was."

"I'm sure that's not true," Ada protested. How could that be? Grandmother was one of her absolute favorite people, and there were still the rare instances she dreamed about having been raised in her house.

Grandmother blinked a couple of times. "Someday, I'll sure you'll understand more than you do now." She took a deep, rattling breath. "Tell me about college next year. I don't think you have."

That wasn't true. Ada had rushed to tell her that she's received early acceptance to Harvard. And Yale. And Stanford. And at least a dozen other places. But apparently those were conversations lost in the fog of illness. "I want to go to Harvard, but Mom and Dad aren't too keen on the idea. They want me to go to Stanford."

"What's at Harvard, other than the ocean on the other side of the country?"

Ada swallowed. "That's not the only reason. My friends Sophie and Harper both applied."

Another chuckle. "You forgot your mother went to Harvard, too. I have been through this before."

"You would think she would remember that," Ada pouted.

"I think her memory is your obstacle, dear." There was a pause, Ada uncertain how to respond to that, completely unaware until that moment that maybe her Mom had been trying to escape something, too. Not that Ada could explain why she wanted to be so far away. "I don't know why I fought it," Grandmother said suddenly, and Ada glanced back at her. "It's important, I think, for a young woman to find her own path in the world."

"Exactly!"

"Ada dear, I know your path is destined for greatness. I can see it, very clearly."

Sucking in her breath, Ada leaned closer to her grandmother. "What? How?"

"I don't know." A little shake of the head. "But I see it the same way I know your father was not just a once a year obligation your mother made to me. I heard it in her voice from the very beginning."

Before Ada could ask what that meant, before Ada could determine if her grandmother's lucidity was slipping away again, she said, firmer, "Please go get your mother, dear. I feel I need to speak to her."

"Right now? It's just that she and Dad -"

"Yes, right now. Before it's too late." Grandmother shut her eyes, but Ada snapped upright at what she had seen just before they closed. It was such an odd look.

"Okay." She let go of her hand and turned to go.

"Ada, dear?" She stopped and turned, her hand on the doorknob. "I love you. You have been one of the greatest joys of my life."

"Me, too," Ada whispered and then ran back to the bed to kiss her grandmother on her forehead.

* * *

"Mother? Are you hungry? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?" Amy asked, entering the bedroom. She hated this, the hospital bed and the sick room smell in her daughter's bedroom. Ada, though, had not seem bothered. Not that Ada wasn't stressed by these changes; Amy could see that she was, but she'd never once complained in her presence. Sometimes, when Amy was home with the hospice nurses and her dying mother while Sheldon was at work and Ada was school, Amy thought she just might dissolve right there on the floor from the pain and the stress and the wait. But then she remembered how strong Ada was being, and she stood up a little straighter and fought off the blackness of absolute grief for another day.

"No, dear." Cynthia lifted her hand slightly and Amy came close, taking it. "I just had a nice conversation with Ada."

"She said you did," Amy said.

"You've done a beautiful job with her, you know," Cynthia said. "I think she's going to be something important."

"Have you been talking to Sheldon?" Amy asked.

"You've done a beautiful job with him, too," Cynthia said.

Amy shook her head. "I can't take credit for that. If Sheldon has changed, it's only because he wanted to change. That's human nature. You can't change someone else."

Cynthia managed a small nod. "Amy, dear, I am not given to sentimentality. And I do not intend to start now. I've written too many obituaries in my time to believe in the healing power of death. Death comes us all, and it's never dignified. But I want to thank you."

"Thank me?" Amy asked, surprised and concerned at this conversation.

"Thank you for taking care of me here, like this. For Ada, for all the days I got to spend with her. For including me in your family celebrations, even though I know I was not always the most welcome -"

"Mother, don't -"

"Shh, let me finish. Thank you for giving me a family after all. Thank you for allowing me to find peace. Thank you for forgiving me. But, most of all, thank you for teaching me there is no room for regrets." Cynthia sank back into the pillows, as much as her emanated form could sink, her breath coming shallow from the effort of her little speech.

"You shouldn't talk so much, Mother. You're out of practice. And you're ill and tired. But," Amy squeezed her boney hand softly, "you have nothing to thank me for. It was always the right thing to do. And for your regrets . . . I don't know what to say."

"Come closer." Amy leaned over closer to her mothers face, her voice losing its strength. "For too long, I regretted my actions. I regretted . . . your father. My own stupidity. I regretted that I had to write for a newspaper, not the next great American novel. I regretted you." Amy sucked in her breath. "I am not saying this to hurt you, I am just telling you the truth. The truth you already know." Amy nodded. "But I realized several years ago that without those actions I wouldn't have Ada. Or you. I sent all my bitterness away, and I hope you were able to see that. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. So, no, I don't regret a single thing."

"Oh, Mother, please don't talk this way." Amy felt tears pooling in her eyes and she knew they would fall. She did not want her Mother to see her cry. Not because she was too proud or too embarrassed, but because this conversation felt very final and she did not want to upset her mother into thinking it was the end.

"Sheldon . . ." Cynthia said, but she had become so weak it can out more as a breath.

"What about him?" Amy asked, but then she felt hands on her shoulders, and she stood up slightly to be closer to him, a reflex she didn't even realize she had. It wasn't about him, it was a greeting, he had come to join to her.

"Hello, Cynthia," Sheldon said softly.

"Thank you for my daughter," Cynthia said.

"I don't understand. As I am not responsible for the procreation of Amy nor has she ever been kidnapped, I cannot claim to -"

"You make her happy."

"Oh."

"Amy, dear."

Except Amy saw it more than heard it. Pulling away from Sheldon, Amy leaned far over her mother again. "Yes, Mother? I can barely hear you."

"You have made me so happy. I love you."

One more exhale and the nothing.

"Mother? Mother!" Amy called.

"Shhh," Sheldon pulled her upright and into a hug, tucking her face into his chest, squeezing her tight. "She's gone."

Then Ada was behind her and Sheldon widened his embrace to include her, and he was the pillar that held them upright.

* * *

Pulling his jacket even tighter around him, shivering in the wind, Sheldon turned to look at his wife. "Are you sure we need to do this today, Amy?"

She turned sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. "Please. We've discussed this. It's what she wanted."

Something in her tone made Sheldon lick his lips and look away. Although he had hated every second of his own mother's religious funeral and burial, standing morbidly there next her dead body in that open casket, dreading that each person he didn't know or only remembered from his childhood would reach out and want to hug him, he felt just as uncomfortable at this bizarre ceremony of sorts.

It had never crossed his mind what kind of memorial Cynthia might want, and he had exhaled with relief when Amy informed she had not requested any sort of traditional funeral or burial. She elected to be cremated. Although they had not always seen eye to eye, Sheldon had always admired his mother-in-law's practically.

". . . and then we're to wade out into the ocean and release her ashes."

"Excuse me?" Sheldon said, physically pulling his head back.

"She would like it at the beach where we used to go swimming, if possible. I think we should do it on a Sunday. She didn't say that, but that is when we used to always go," Amy finished.

"But it's December! And it's - it's, well, it's the ocean!"

A single, firm nod. "I know. I have already contemplated this and I do not think you need to go out into the ocean with Ada and me. Don't worry, I don't think that's violating her wishes. Her wish was primarily for us, I think."

"Is it even legal?" he sputtered. Surely the bureaucracy of the great state of California would come through for him.

"Oh, yes, you just have to get a VS-8 Burial Permit. I already downloaded the PDF application. I'm taking Monday morning off and going to the County Recorders office to get one," Amy said breezily as though she filled out forms for burial permits every day. "Apparently it's very simple."

For once, Amy's preparedness was the problem, not the solution. Sheldon had turned his daughter, across the dining table, a silent pleading in his eyes. Surely Ada would see the ridiculousness of this plan. And not just the cold and the germs; the whole idea was bordering perilously close to philosophical poppycock. The only reason Amy couldn't see it, he was certain, was because she was still in deep mourning, everything so fresh and painful in her mind and heart, still finding her footing and regaining her strength after her mother's long illness.

"Dad, it was her final request. We have to honor it," Ada said with finality.

Biting off another grumble, the need to point out that in fact her final request was for Amy to come closer to the bed, Sheldon looked down at his plate. It was just like Cynthia, wasn't it, to make him uncomfortable even now?

That's how he came to find himself that Sunday morning driving out to the beach with a biodegradable box of ashes setting in the backseat next to his daughter. He had done hundreds of things in his life he never imagined doing, especially once Ada came along, but this almost felt surreal.

He helped his wife and his daughter spread out the blanket and unpack the bag. The wind was biting in the winter chill and the beach was deserted this morning. Perhaps that, at least, was a good thing. No one else was around to witness this bizarre, and no doubt sappy, ceremony that his normally rational ladies were engaging in.

"But it's so cold today. We should do this in the afternoon, a warmer afternoon," he tried one last time, turning to Ada this time. Surely he could convince her. She loved to swim just as much as Amy, but the couple of times Amy had taken her to beach she had not enjoyed it as much as Amy had hoped; instead, she preferred the cleaner heated environment of the pool.

"It's fifty-five. Think of all those people who do the polar bear plunge in Canada on New Year's Day. It's nothing compared to that. Besides, we want to be alone," Ada said, crossing her arms and pulling her sweatshirt off. Then she reached forward and put a hand on his forearm. "Dad, please. Don't ruin it."

Sheldon frowned. He wasn't trying to ruin anything. He was trying to talk sense into his family. But if Ada thought he was ruining it, that most likely meant Amy would before long, too, and the last thing he wanted to do was block their closure. "I'll be here with the towels and blankets. And then you're both going immediately home to take hot showers and I'll make you huge mugs of hot cocoa."

"Okay, here we go," Amy said, now that both she and Ada were stripped down to the swimsuits they wore under their clothes.

"Wait!" Sheldon remembered. "You said wade. You just have to get your feet wet!"

"Thank you for the technicalities, but I want to go out far enough the wind will carry the ashes away from the beach. It's very important to be downwind; it's why I've been studying the weather so closely." Amy shook her head. "We'll be fine, I promise."

Then they were off, Amy gripping the box - how morbid and unseemly, Sheldon thought one more time - holding Ada's hand as they ran together into the surf. He was surprised they were laughing, but their laughter was quickly replaced by shouts of surprise and what he assumed was pain as they plunged in, water splashing around their knees, their waists, their chests.

"It's freezing!" he heard Ada yell. Well, of course it was. He had repeatedly told them that it would be.

They went out further, Ada reaching out to take the box from Amy, her longer legs allowing her to stay upright longer. They stopped and he waited for the release of the ashes on the wind so that the whole business could be completed, but it didn't come. What was taking so long? It seemed that perhaps, they were talking quietly, and then he saw Amy reach up to touch Ada's face, as though she were brushing something away. He sat down on the blanket with a thump, swallowing hard. Suddenly, he felt excluded and not in the same way he had before, not in the sense of being superior and smug in his scientific knowledge. Why did it have to be this way?

The sound of car pulling up surprised him, and Sheldon twisted to see who it was, hoping it wasn't someone with a dog. No, just a man, walking toward him. Should he ask him to leave as Ada said they choose a cool, windy morning to be alone? Sheldon put his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the short stature, the unusual bouncy gait. Jacob.

"Hi, Sheldon," Jacob said as he approached. "Did I miss it?"

"The ill-conceived run into the freezing winter ocean or the release of inert dry calcium phosphates?"

Jacob sat down next to him. "It looks like they're just talking."

Sheldon nodded. "Yes." He glanced over at the young man at his side. He was unable to fully wrap his mind around the idea that one of Ada's friends, a child of friend, was old enough to drive and look like an adult male from across the beach parking lot. "I didn't realize that Ada had invited her friends."

"She didn't. At least, I don't think so." Jacob shrugged. "She just told me about it Friday night, and I thought she might . . ." He swallowed and turned to look sharply at Sheldon. "Is it a private family thing? Should I leave before she sees me?"

Shaking his head, Sheldon said, "No. Stay."

"Why aren't you in the water?"

"Numerous reasons. As the ambient temperature is only fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit today -"

"No, I know, it's cold and germy. But, I mean . . . never mind."

Sheldon frowned again. Why was everybody acting like he was trying to ruin something today? He was being the voice of reason in this whole situation. Even Jacob! Jacob who was normally too nervous and unsure of himself to interject his opinion in any conversation, at least in Sheldon's experience. Sometimes Ada would says something like "Jacob loves that" or "Jacob hates that" and it always surprised Sheldon, that Jacob has forcefully expressed an opinion to her about anything.

"I got a full scholarship to MIT," Jacob said suddenly.

"Congratulations," Sheldon replied. "You know you can get a degree in physics there, too. I'm going there myself in January - you've probably heard, but I came up with a new theory a few months ago and it's even more excellent than my brilliant ideas - and I could put in a good word for you in the physics department, maybe get you direct admission."

Jacob smiled. "Nah. Sorry. Thanks, though. I guess I'll do biological engineering."

"You aren't certain?"

He shook his head. "There isn't really a degree in botanical engineering. And I'm not sure botany is practical. Besides, I didn't get a full scholarship to school that offers a botany degree, anyway. Honestly, I'm not really sure what I want to do."

"I'm sorry, I don't have any insight into that. I was destined to be a physicist. Just as Ada is destined to be a mathematician."

His eyebrows up, Jacob said, "You think?"

"Of course. She selected mathematics as her preliminary major on all her applications." He paused. "She has mentioned double majoring in Japanese, if that's what you mean."

"Uh, yeah, sure . . . Hey, look!" Jacob pointed out and Sheldon followed his extended finger. A cloud of dust swirled and was picked up by the wind, thinning and dissipating away from the two figures in the water, their heads very close as they were obviously holding each other.

"I feel like we should say something," Jacob said softly.

An unexpected knot in his throat, Sheldon just nodded. He watched the cloud until it was completely gone, and then he watched Amy and Ada, not moving, so close, watching it even longer than he had. He only turned at the rustling next to him. "You're removing your shoes?"

Peeling off his socks, Jacob started rolling up his pants. "I'm just going to wade out. Maybe I should take the towels?"

"Why is everyone insistent on getting in that cold water?" Sheldon asked.

"Because it means something to her."

Sheldon watched the wind billow up Jacob's shirt as he approached the water. Her, who, exactly? Cynthia? Surely not, Jacob had only met her a couple of times. Amy? Perhaps, because she was Jacob's honorary aunt and he had spent many hours in their home as a child. Somehow, even that didn't fit.

A decision was made in a flash, and Sheldon rushed to remove his shoes before he had time to talk himself back into reason. Even the rolls on his pants weren't tight enough and it flirted across his mind that they would get wet. Regardless, he grabbed the remaining towel and ran toward the water's edge, plunging in as the cold forced all the air out of his body, ignoring the very soles of his feet crying out as the touched the soft, swishy sand, rejecting this new sensory experience, rejecting thoughts of fish feces.

He arrived just in time to hold the towel out, and Amy's broad smile warmed him to such an extent that he no longer felt the chill in his toes. "You came!" she gushed and she allowed him to wrap her up in the warm towel.

"When did you get here?" Ada asked Jacob, taking the towel from his outstretched arms.

"Just in time to see you release the ashes," he answered.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?" Amy asked, pressing close to Sheldon. He held her close, rubbing his hands along her covered arms to warm her further. For a brief moment, he thought about telling her how the wind currents had picked up each individual particle and how the jet stream would -

"It was. It's exactly what she would have wanted, I think, especially now that we're all out here together," Ada said softly, wrapped in her own towel.

Amy squeezed in tighter, and Sheldon looked down to wipe the tears he was certain would be there away. But they weren't. She was smiling, looking out at the ocean. It might have been the chill in the air, but he thought her skin looked pinker and her eyes seemed brighter. Then she whispered, "Thank you for coming out, Sheldon. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"You're welcome," he said softly, kissing the top of her head, ashamed that it hadn't really been his idea. He glanced over at Jacob, wondering if he'd give him away, but Jacob wasn't looking at him, he was talking to Ada and she smiled at something he said.

As Ada turned her face away from him, she reached out and squeezed Jacob's hand. Sheldon saw his eyebrows go up and he locked eyes with the young man for just a second before Jacob lowered his again, a deep blush spreading across his face. Surprised at his own sudden insight, Sheldon understood exactly what the expression on Jacob's face was. _Her._ It was _her._ Instantly so many things were clearer.

The four of them stood in the ocean like that, in the chill and the wind and the sun, talking and even laughing, and it was nothing like the morose and sappy day Sheldon had thought it would be. Later, Jacob would leave and Amy and Ada would huddle with chattering teeth all the way back home. Later, Sheldon would insist on hot baths for them both. Later, for the first time in two months, Amy asked him to join her for a nap and he loved her delicately, nurturing her from the inside out.

But for the time, on a sunny but cool December Sunday morning, Cynthia gave them a happy day at the beach. And it meant something to each of them in a different way.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	119. The Prom Goer's Interstellar Excursion

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**March 2034**

**Primary Topic: _The Prom Goer's Interstellar Excursion_  by Chris McCoy**

**Additional Book(s) Mentioned: _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_  by Lewis Carroll**

* * *

"Now maybe one of just the boys?"

"Mom! Seriously, that's enough!" Ada rolled her eyes. "You've already taken a thousand pictures."

"Only thirty-six," Sheldon said. "But I would have stopped five photos ago, at a prime number."

Amy lowered her phone and glared at both of them. Ada she really couldn't be angry with; she was probably anxious to get to prom. Sheldon she would deal with later. "It's just that you're so beautiful."

Ada tilted her head and pursed her lips. Ever there, a hand on her hip, impatience burning in her eyes, she was. Some said those with red undertones in their hair couldn't wear pink, but Ada was proving them all wrong in the gorgeous raspberry vintage cocktail dress she'd found to wear after a whole day Amy spent trapsing after her to dozens of stores.

"Okay, you're right," Amy said. "Here, give me a hug."

"Mom!"

"Or not. But have a wonderful time."

Good-byes were exchanged with foursome: Ada and her date Liam, Jacob and his date Sophie. Amy sighed when the door closed and then she reviewed her photos, selecting the perfect shot to post to Instabook.

Looking up, she noticed that Sheldon had moved to his computer but his posture seemed tense. She decided that perhaps some light harp music would be just the thing and within a few minutes she was seated in the corner of the dining room strumming the strings. It suddenly seemed so quiet when all the teenagers left, and it was good, she thought, to fill the silence with something soothing. She didn't know why the silence seemed heavy, but she thought perhaps it was Sheldon's mood.

Regardless of the joy that playing her harp brought her, she was forced to stop after about a half hour by the aching in her hip. She frowned as she put her instrument away, telling herself yet again that she really ought to get that looked at.

"I'm going to find something to watch. Would you like to join me?" she called.

Sheldon shrugged at their partners desk. "Nope."

Amy frowned but didn't reply. His mood was worse than she thought. She moved to the sofa and searched the menu before finding a documentary she thought sounded especially interesting. Belle jumped up and head-butted her for chin scratches and ear pets before settling down to give herself a bath. The show still in its first few minutes, Amy's eyebrows went up when she heard Sheldon turn the corner, and she thought perhaps he had changed his minded. But when she turned her head back to look at him, he was pulling out the dry erase markers. She turned back to watch her documentary, enjoying the footage and the interviews. It as getting engrossing and making her wonder if there was a book on the exact topic. Perhaps one of the experts who were being interviewed -

Except she couldn't concentrate. "Sheldon, please stop it. You're pacing and growling around like a caged lion."

"I'm not growling."

Looking up, Amy said, "You're not denying the pacing."

"I still think this is a bad idea."

"No, it's not. It's a high school tradition. It's a chaperoned event. Ada has proven herself very responsible." With a deep breath, she added, "She'll be on her own at Harvard in just a few months, anyway."

Sheldon flopped down on the sofa next to Amy. "That's not helping." He sighed deeply. "We should have made her go with Jacob."

Now it was Amy's turn to sigh, as she instructed Siri to stop the documentary and turned to face her husband. "We've discussed this. We should not be forcing her to go to prom with anyone that she didn't want to."

"But she hardly knows this Liam kid! And we don't know him at all!"

"We know he's captain of the basketball team. We know he's going to UCLA on a basketball scholarship. We know his grades and behavior are good enough to remain on the team." She rubbed her eyes. "It's just prom, Sheldon. Let Ada have one night as the belle of the ball. Let her go with the most popular boy in school."

"It should have been Jacob." Sheldon crossed his arms.

"They're double-dating, so he'll be there. However, remember, we've talked about his? Jacob is not her keeper. We cannot keep assuming he'll always be there to protect her or watch over her. He needs his own life, too, just like she does." Amy bit her lip. Even though she believed everything she'd just said, she remembered the relief she felt with she discovered Jacob would be going to MIT in the fall, how much easier it had made Harvard seem. He'd be in the same city, at least. "And you know it's not like that," she added softly.

Sheldon turned in his spot. "Why not? He's obviously crazy -"

"Don't say it," Amy interrupted him. "You said you'd stop saying it."

"You brought it up."

Shaking her head, Amy said, "Maybe, but just to once again tell you that you're totally misreading the situation. Ada said he practically begged Sophie to go to the prom with him, so he must like her." Her husband grunted, and she put her hand out on his arm. "You're the one always saying she can't date until she's thirty or something silly like that, so why are you so determined to see them together?"

He looked away. "Because I can't imagine wanting you and never getting you," he whispered.

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy paused. Was Sheldon seeing something she wasn't? Some secret guy code? Had Sheldon and Jacob had some sort of deep conversation she never knew about? It wasn't that she was opposed to Jacob and Ada; even she had to admit they seemed well suited for each other. They are both quiet in their own ways - Ada because she was so self-contained, Jacob because he was shy - and she had noticed that they liked to be quiet together. Additionally, there were times she worried about why Ada hadn't shown any real interest in a boy, including a conversation that resulted in a fight after Amy told her that if wanted to go to the prom with another girl that would be fine with her parents and she could just tell them. (And a revelation, too: "God, Mom!, I'm not like Frannie!") Even though she'd accepted Liam's invitation, Amy couldn't get a reason why out of Ada other than "He's taller than me. No one is taller than me." Hardly romantic reasoning.

But Ada and Jacob were so young, with their whole lives ahead of them, and so many things could change as they matured. She meant it when she had said they needed to find their own lives; maybe growing up so close together wasn't good for them. Jacob, at least, was always nervous and vaguely lost. Not to mention that Ada had, on more than one occasion, made it abundantly clear she thought Jacob was too much of a nerd or too unattractive to consider in any sort of amorous sense.

Shaking her head, Amy told herself to stop speculating like this. After all, they were still essentially children, even if Jacob would be shortly turning eighteen and they would both be moving across the country in the autumn. It was exactly the sort of thing she had just chastised Sheldon for doing.

"Listen, we've agreed to disagree on this topic already, so let's do that now, okay?" She rubbed Sheldon's arm until he turned back around. "We just need to do something else to occupy our time this evening. It's Book Club Night, you know."

"I never forget Book Club," Sheldon said. "I'm sorry, it just makes me nervous, Ada out there on her first date."

"I'd be more worried if you weren't nervous. You are her father. And I know I've been telling you to calm down for weeks now, but I really do appreciate how much you care, how concerned you are." She smiled softly at him and was rewarded when he returned it.

"Book Club?" he asked.

"I'd love to." She eased back into the sofa, relaxing into her favorite ritual with him.

"Let me guess: prom was on your mind," Sheldon said. "It's all you've been talking about."

"It's not all I'm been talking about!" Amy protested. "It's just a major event in one's high school career. It's very important to me that Ada has the best possible evening. I want her to only have happy memories of tonight."

"You're the one who's been telling me she'll be fine since this whole silly tradition came up. Don't you believe it yourself?"

"Of course. She will be fine. As I've said, she is a strong, intelligent young lady and is more than capable of handling this well-chaperoned dance. But I want her to have fun, too."

Sheldon sighed softly and nodded. It was a fait accompli, Ada was already at the prom by now, they had agreed to disagree, so Amy hoped Sheldon realized that there was no point in bemoaning her choice of date anymore. "Surely there's a more romantic book about a prom out there than this?" he asked instead.

"I'm sure there is. But I wanted something you would read and enjoy, too," Amy said. "So a science fiction-based prom story it was. Also, I wanted something light. And this book had good reviews."

"It was certainly light. It bore absolutely no connection to reality. Or the laws of physics."

Amy smiled. "It's absurdist fiction, Sheldon, like  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. Granted, a very light and airy example of that. Absurdist fiction is meant to be read completely outside of the laws of physics or other rules that we normally expect. It's only by removing those laws, by allowing the impossible to happen, that sometimes something can be isolated for the reader, something that might normally be hidden."

"So you think there's some deeper meaning to this?" Sheldon asked.

"Actually, no, not this one. I think this was just meant to be a fun, silly, zany story. A joyful ride, a good time." Amy sighed. "Which, I guess, is what prom should be."

"If you think prom is such a light-hearted thing why were both you and Ada so worked up about it?"

"It's a rite of passage, Sheldon. At least for girls, so maybe you wouldn't understand. I just want Ada to have - to have the experience I never had." Amy looked down at her skirt.

"Hush," Sheldon said softly, taking her hand. Amy looked up at him. "Would you honestly trade your life for that one night at prom?"

"No." Amy shook her head, ashamed.

"Besides, I'll dance with you anytime you like."

Amy smiled. "It's a date. Okay, the book. Am I to infer you hated it because it was too absurd for you? Even though you loved  _Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland_?"

"I didn't loved that book! It gave me nightmares!" Sheldon sighed. "I didn't hate this book. I didn't get it, but it was, as you said, light and easily understood if I threw at least ninety-nine percent of my scientific knowledge out the window. Bennett seems like a solid kid, if not academically gifted. But he likes science, and he's a good enough student to get wait-listed for Princeton. He's chivalrous, and he does everything in his power to save Sophie and give her the prom experience she desires."

"Did you like Sophie? The character in the book, not Ada's friend. She knew all those unusual facts, and was always spouting them at odd times -"

"Completely appropriate times!"

"- she reminded me of you, a bit," Amy finished with a smile.

"There was a moment when she reminded me of Ada, and I can't think of why. Ada doesn't drive a motorcycle, Ada isn't dating an older, college-aged boy, and Ada is definitely not blessed with the gift of music."

Amy laughed. "Maybe it's the unusual facts."

"Maybe."

Amy stood and Sheldon looked up at her in surprise. "Would you really dance with me, Sheldon?"

"Of course. Remember, we used to dance in the old apartment. But then . . ." he let it trail without any tone of regret. It was a statement well known to Amy, the complete phrase that they has taken to abbreviating to "but then." What it really meant was: "But then there was the earthquake and then Ada and then your discovery and then . . ."

"Sheldon Cooper, may I have the honor of this dance?" Amy asked.

Sheldon smiled and stood. "Yes."

"Computer -" Amy raised her voice. "Play _For You I Will_ by Monica."

"What is that?" Sheldon asked, taking her in his arms anyway, as the music started.

"The prom theme my senior year of high school," Amy explained settling against this chest, her arms around her waist. "Except my prom was in early May; it seems strange that it's so early here."

"Amy, this isn't the proper form," Sheldon said softly. "And the coffee table is in the way."

"Shh, it's how you're supposed to dance at your prom. Just put your arms around me and sway."

"But swaying isn't -"

"Do it, Sheldon."

She heard him sigh but he complied. They swayed softly there in front of the sofa for awhile, Amy listening to the song she had probably last heard in 1998. "This is nice," she said. "And somewhat scientific, she's singing about the moon and sun."

"You know that you can't just go get the moon for someone. Despite what our Book Club selection may have led you to believe," Sheldon replied.

"It's the thought that counts."

Sheldon squeezed her tighter and kissed the top of her head. "Then it would be a new moon every single night."

Amy's eyelashes fluttered. Maybe this was better than any prom she could ever imagine. She breathed out, "Oh, Sheldon -"

Then all hell broke loose. The front door flung open and they heard Jacob yell, "Ada!"

"Go away!" they heard their daughter yell as they both turned toward the commotion, a swirl of pink dress and copper hair, stomping down the hallway.

Amy pulled sharply away from Sheldon. "Jacob? Ada? What's going on?"

Then she heard Sheldon whisper, his voice deep and rumbling, even over the swell of music as their romantic song ended, "Was that blood on her dress?"

"Oh God!" Tearing away from him, Amy started to run down the hallway toward Ada's room, when she heard Sheldon's long stride behind her. She stopped and put her palm up. "No! You stay out there!"

"But there's -"

"Let me talk to her first!"

She saw the struggle on her husband's face, just a few microseconds of terror and indecision, but then he nodded. Amy turned and ran toward Ada's room.

* * *

Sheldon stood hopeless in the hallway, the song finally ending and a deafening silence filling the great room. Amy had shut Ada's door behind her, but even the few seconds before she did gave away nothing. No sobbing or moans of pain or anything. He put his hand out against the wall to steady himself, his body on the verge of either hyperventilating or vomiting or passing out or all three at the same time.

"Uncle Sheldon?" he heard Jacob's voice. "Are you okay?"

He had completely forgotten he was there. Sheldon turned, opened his mouth to demand to know what happened, when he saw his hand. Broken skin, drops of blood along his knuckles. "Oh, Jesus," Sheldon moaned, sliding slowly down the wall, covering his eyes. "You've got blood on your hand."

"Can I wash it off in the bathroom?" Jacob asked.

"Please do," Sheldon said. Somewhere between childbirth and Ada's broken arm the sight of blood no longer had the power over him it once did. But tonight, all this uncertainly confusing him, Jacob's bloody hand just might make him pass out as he used to do.

"I need a stiff drink," he suddenly said aloud, even though it was only to himself. Isn't that what they always did in all those old movies?

Struggling, Sheldon managed to lurch toward the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He knew what he was looking for, Amy always kept a couple of cans near the back in case Stuart came up. Popping the tab, he tilted his head back as he poured some of the yellow liquid down his throat and almost gagged on the taste and the painful burning sensation.

"Are you okay?" Jacob asked, entering the room.

Sheldon wiped his mouth. "I needed something strong."

"Um, Mountain Dew?" Jacob asked.

"It's the stiffest thing we have." Sheldon explained. But it had revived him at least a little, and he looked at the disheveled young man in front of him. His hand was blessedly free from any blood, but Sheldon didn't want to think about what all those shiny spots on his black tuxedo jacket were. There were a few poorly placed Jane Austen bandages on his hand. "I haven't seen those in forever."

"They're the first ones I found." Jacob shrugged. "It's hard to put them on your own hand."

"You better start talking," Sheldon said, shutting the refrigerator behind him. "And not about Band-Aids. Where is all this blood coming from?"

"Liam's nose," Jacob said with a groan, sitting down on one of the island stools.

Sheldon let out a huge breath. "Not from Ada, then? She's unharmed? Why is she so upset about a nose bleed? Is it because of the female fantasy of prom-related perfection?"

Jacob shook his head. "Ada's fine. Except her pride, maybe. It wasn't a nose bleed, not really like a medical problem."

"What?" Sheldon took another step closer, the pieces falling into place. "Your hand! You punched him?" Then another piece. "Why?" he thundered. "What did he do to my daughter?"

From his seat, Jacob visibly flinched. "Ada's fine. He just . . . he kissed her," he ended in a mumble.

"What?" Sheldon slammed the can on the island top. "He  _kissed_  her? Of all the low down, dirty tricks - I'm going to hunt him down and -"

"Calm down, Uncle Sheldon."

"Don't tell me to calm down. Some little - little minded athletic freak thinks he can kiss my daughter -"

"Do want to know the story or not?" Jacob yelled and Sheldon stepped back. "Sorry, I'm under a lot of stress here." Jacob looked down and shook his head. He started running his finger back and forth on the countertop. "I'm probably in the worse trouble of my life."

"Trouble?" Sheldon asked, softer.

"My scholarship to MIT is nullified if I get expelled from school. And there's a zero tolerance policy for any sort of physical altercations. The prom is an official high school event, you know." Jacob put his head down on top of his arms. "My parents are going to kill me. And it's too late to get into another school!"

Unsure what to do, his world suddenly feeling like some sort of absurdist fiction with no connection to reality, Sheldon turned and opened the refrigerator to get out the other can of Mountain Dew. He opened it and sat it in front of Jacob's brown hair. "Here. Perhaps it's time we had a man-to-man talk."

Jacob looked up at the can and then up at Sheldon. At least he hadn't been crying, Sheldon couldn't have dealt with that. "Seriously?"

"I think you need to start at the beginning. Talk fast, my daughter is sobbing in her bedroom covered in blood, and you might imagine that's not good for my patience."

"Okay," Jacob nodded, reaching for the can. "But she wasn't sobbing. And she's not covered in blood, it's just a few drops from the spray -"

"Jacob," Sheldon warned.

"Okay, okay. So we're at prom and it's fine. Sophie was actually being cool about being my date, even though I think she only said yes because she owes Ada a favor for tutor -"

"Do not test me," Sheldon warned, gripping the soda can again to kept from grabbing Jacob.

"Anyway, it was going well and then they played the theme song and everybody is dancing all close and slow and they kissed." Jacob paused, his eyes searching and Sheldon's hand squeezed even tighter.

"That cretin -"

"I think it was mutual."

Sheldon froze as his stomach turned over. Was that better or worse? "Oh."

Jacob took a breath and continued. "Just then he went to do it again and I heard her tell him no and he said 'but it's prom' and she said 'and it's still my body' -"

"He has messed with the wrong man's daughter!" Sheldon put his finger up in the air.

" - so I stopped dancing and stepped closer to tell him that she said she didn't want to kiss anymore and he said some - some not nice things about me and Ada told him to stop it and then he said she was being a tease because she was so hot but wouldn't even let him kiss her when that was his right as her prom date and I - I punched him." Jacob looked down, having finished his rushed speech, the run on sentence of events. "I may have broken his nose. Or maybe my hand, it really hurts." Jacob pulled his right hand out from under his left arm and it was, in fact, starting to swell some under those childish bandages.

"You defended my daughter?" Sheldon whispered, looking down Jacob's injured hand. He was so grateful, it didn't even cross his mind to gloat, to allow himself to believe he was correct about Jacob's emotions all along no matter what Amy thought.

"Yeah, I guess so." Jacob shrugged. "Not that it did me any good. Ada's mad at me because she said she was handling it and I treat her like a baby and Sophie's mad because I ruined her prom and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get expelled and lose my place at MIT and Mom is going to kill me."

Sheldon took a deep breath and turned to get an ice pack out of the door of the freezer. He wrapped it in a clean dishtowel that he pulled out of the drawer and handed it to Jacob. "Will you really lose your scholarship?"

Jacob nodded forlornly. "I think so. Zero tolerance for fighting. And I threw the first punch. The only punch. With, like, four hundred witnesses."

"Did you really break his nose?" Sheldon asked, taking another drink of Mountain Dew.

"I think so. There was a lot of blood." Jacob reached with his free hand to take his own drink.

"Where are Liam and Sophie now?"

"Liam, I don't know. He ran off toward the bathroom. Sophie told me if I followed Ada out the door she'd never speak to me again."

"But you did anyway?"

Jacob shrugged. "I offered to drive her home. Most uncomfortable car ride, ever. You think she could thank me . . . or something."

"Thank you," Sheldon said softly. "I shouldn't have yelled at you earlier."

Shrugging again, Jacob was toying with the tab on the top of the soda can. "It's okay. I'm used to a lot of yelling."

"Is there not a chivalry clause in the school code? Defending a lady?" Sheldon asked as he rounded the island to sit next to Jacob.

"No," Jacob mumbled. "I think there's one for self-defense from sexual assault or something like that. But once Liam tells them what happened, my life is over."

"What can I do?" Sheldon asked.

"Nothing." Jacob took a drink. "I guess we could challenge Liam to a duel, but this isn't the middle ages. Or like one of those hick states in the South." He shook his head. "Sorry, that was stupid. Forget I said it."

"It's not stupid. You can take the genius out of Texas but you can't take the Texas out of the genius," Sheldon said. "If I owned a shotgun, I wouldn't be here right now."

Jacob actually chuckled, and Sheldon smiled a bit. "Listen, Jacob, I'll help you. If you need a character reference or some pull at MIT, I'll do what I can. I'm a big deal, you know."

"Thanks. But even you can't save me from Mom."

Sheldon blew out some air, thinking of the force of nature that was Bernadette. "You're right. I guess all that's left for that is to stay bellied up to this here bar, drinking away our sorrows." He took another drink of Mountain Dew, feeling a little looser. "You should have been Ada's date."

A sputtering sound came from Jacob. "Um, well, Ada didn't want to go with me, I think."

"And Sophie was anticipating a relationship with you?"

"Um, no. Maybe. Probably not. I don't know." Jacob sighed. "I'm not any good with girls."

"In my experience, you only need to be good with right one." Sheldon took another drink and realized the can was empty at the same time it occurred to him that Amy would probably say he'd said too much. "What is in this stuff, anyway?"


	120. Consequences

**Consequences**

* * *

_Amy pulled sharply away from Sheldon. "Jacob? Ada? What's going on?"_

_Then she heard Sheldon whisper, his voice deep and rumbling, even over the swell of music as their romantic song ended, "Was that blood on her dress?"_

_"Oh God!" Tearing away from him, Amy started to run down the hallway toward Ada's room, when she heard Sheldon's long stride behind her. She stopped and put her palm up. "No! You stay out there!"_

* * *

"Ada, tell me what happened!" Amy said even as she opened her daughter's bedroom door. Gone were her usual concerns about respecting Ada's privacy, about setting a good example to never enter another's personal space without permission.

She thought Ada would be sobbing on her bed, but instead she standing the middle of her room, twisting to unzip the back of her dress. "Oh!" Amy gripped the edge of her dresser. There were spatterings of blood all down the front of it, just as Sheldon had said. Swallowing hard, fighting the vomit that was gurgling up in her esophagus, Amy said, "Who hurt you? What happened?"

"It's not mine. I'm not injured," Ada said, finally succeeding with the zipper and stepping out of the dress.

Amy shut her eyes and thanked a deity that she wasn't even sure existed. "Who's is it?" She paused, thinking about the tumult she had just seen. "Jacob's?"

"No. It's Liam's." Ada stood in her undergarments, still in her high heels, looking down at the vintage dress that she'd worked so hard to find.

"You have to tell me what happened," Amy said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Jacob punched Liam and he got a bloody nose. It may be broken."

"What?!" Amy shook her head. "Jacob Wolowitz?" She tried to match that statement with awkward and reticent young man she knew. He may have outgrown his high-strung preschool years but it was though all that nervous energy had been directed inward, only revealed through his strange gait and his jittery hand movements. But if Sheldon was correct . . . "Did they get into an argument over you?"

"God, Mom, no! Why do you insist on talking about Jacob that way?" Ada yelled but then sat down on the edge of her bed and seemed to wilt. "It was awful," she whispered.

"Oh, sweetheart." Amy rushed to her side, sitting next to her, putting her arm about her taller daughter. "Please tell me what happened."

"We kissed."

Her eyebrows went up. "You and . . . Liam?" she ventured timidly.

Ada nodded.

"And that was a . . . bad thing?"

"I don't know why I did it. I don't like him, I never did. I guess I was just curious." Ada still wasn't looking up.

Amy smiled softly and ran her hand across Ada's updo. "That's okay. It's perfectly normal to be curious about kissing." Amy took a deep breath. "But I don't understand why Liam and Jacob got into a fight."

Ada looked over at her and Amy saw that her eyes were getting misty now. "I did it for the wrong reason. I just wanted to be the most popular girl for one night. Liam was a shoe-in for prom king, so I thought I could be prom queen. Not the just the smartest girl. I wanted to be both."

"Oh!" Amy pulled her in and held her close. It hurt so much, seeing her normally confident daughter doubting herself. These type of doubts hadn't seemed to plague Ada for a couple of years now, once the initial pre-teen and teenage growing pains passed. Instead, Amy had been so pleased that Ada had inherited Sheldon's assurance, because Amy believed self-esteem was essential for any woman. She never wanted Ada to doubt her worth in this world.

But she also wished that she didn't understand exactly what that felt like. She wished that she had not had moments in her life when she had felt exactly the same way, when hesitation and misgivings lapped at her heart. She wished that she had been able to convince Ada that being the smartest girl would pay off in the long run. But she remembered being sixteen, too.

"There's plenty of time to be the most popular girl in the room, Ada. There are so many more exciting rooms in your life than a high school gymnasium," she whispered. "I promise." She took a deep breath. "Can you tell me what else happened? Does the kiss have to do with Jacob punching Liam?"

Nodding against her, Ada pulled back. "Then he tried to do it again, and I told him not to. But then he said . . . he said I had to, that I was his date. That I had to because I was so hot." Amy clutched her chest. "Jacob and Sophie were dancing next to us, and then Jacob stepped over and told him to leave me alone." Ada shrugged. "Liam said some mean things to Jacob and then Jacob punched him."

The nausea returned again, although only a shadow of its former self. "Was it only just a kiss? Please tell me, Ada. Did this boy hurt you?"

"No. I promise." Ada shook her head. She looked up sharply. "He's not a monster, Mom, he didn't try anything when I said no. But . . . but he said those things. Oh!" - she threw her head back down into her hands - "I feel so stupid, agreeing to go with Liam. I thought he was the nice jock, you know, but I guess not. They're all the same. He just thought I could be a conquest for him."

"Sweetheart, from what you've told me you did nothing wrong. You had no way to know that Liam would act this way. Even if you had, that is no excuse for his statements. Of course, I'm not condoning Jacob's response. Violence is never the correct answer and I thought both of you knew it."

"It would have never happened if I wasn't trying to be so - so popular. I was horrible! You would have been so mad if you'd seen me. I laughed at his stupid jokes and told him I liked his car and lied that the corsage was pretty. I don't know what came over me, it was like I was possessed by one of those pretty airheads and that made him think he could control me." Ada reached up and started pulling pins out of her elaborate updo. "I should have just gone with one of the boring dweeby band guys. Obviously only a nerdy guy will ever understand me."

"Ada, stop it!" Amy pleaded, putting her hand over Ada's fists. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter if you lied about his car and your corsage or even if you really were an airhead - none of those give any man permission to threaten you, verbally or otherwise." Amy took a deep breath. "Do your father and I need to go to school with you Monday morning and help you report this to the principal?

"No!" Ada almost shouted. "I don't want Jacob to get in trouble."

"But if Liam was threatening you -"

A firm shake of the head. "I don't think so. I think it was all talk, trying to make himself sound, I don't know, stronger than he is or something. Besides, I really do think his nose is broken. That's probably enough."

"Are you sure?" Amy asked, unsure which answer she wanted.

Her daughter nodded. "And now my prom is ruined and I never got to be prom queen. I'm still just the brainy one."

"Oh, Ada. Be the brainy one! I thought you knew that was your most important gift."

"I do. But I wanted to be both, just once," Ada whispered.

Amy reached for Ada's hand. "Someday someone will love you for your brilliance and your beauty in equal measure. They will love you for your interests and your passions, and they will only serve to make you better. There were times I doubted myself, that I thought I was destined to be alone forever, and then I found your father. He made me realize that I was already the total package because he never tried to change me, he only augmented me. Please don't settle. I know you hate it when I say this, but you're only sixteen. I didn't meet your father until I was twenty-nine."

Her daughter leaned her head against Amy's shoulder. "We can't all have a Sheldon Cooper, Mom, even though you never tire of telling me how perfect he is."

"Aren't I the lucky one then?" Amy whispered. Then she added, "And I think some very lucky man will get you to be _his_ Cooper."

She heard a little chuckle and that made her smile. Then Ada said, "Mom? Will you stay and help me with my hair and then read with me in bed?"

* * *

On Monday, the hours crawled by and Sheldon found it hard to concentrate, dreading the phone call from Principal Higgins that was bound to come. He and Amy had discussed it, late into the night of the prom, after Amy said Ada had fallen asleep. They compared notes and felt confident that they had both received the complete and honest story from the two teenagers. Amy said, with obvious relief, that it was good to hear that Jacob also felt the kiss was mutual and that Ada had not been violated in any fashion, no matter how small. She expressed frustration both that Jacob had responded in violence and that Sheldon had not admonished him for it, so Sheldon did not see the advantage in telling her he was actually grateful for Jacob's defense of their daughter. Although that didn't help them understand how they were supposed to feel about the situation as a whole. Then, after Amy had finally fallen asleep, Sheldon had tossed and turned the entire night, unable to sleep himself, baffled at why he still felt wide awake despite his time-proven foolproof anti-insomnia measures.

Sunday a pallor settled over their home, as they all wondered around from one silent task to another. Sheldon texted with Howard some about the situation, but nothing was actually said aloud. Only Ada seemed to settle and calm as evening came, as though she'd made some sort of peace with the events of the night before, almost as though something had been decided. Sheldon envied her.

Finally, a half hour before Ada's school let out, Sheldon called Amy and they agreed they would leave work and go pick her up from school, even though it was Ada's habit to catch a ride home with Jacob on Mondays, neither of them having an extracurricular activity that day of the week. Then they would be present should the principal need to speak to them, which surely she would as they had not been contacted yet. It was strange that Howard hadn't been called yet, either, although, in typical Howard fashion, he wasn't as concerned.

They remained baffled when they weren't needed. Even though they believed very strongly that Ada had been an innocent bystander or even victim, she was embroiled nonetheless and parents were usually called prior to some sort hearing. Ada rolled her eyes and said they were "overreacting" when she saw them, but she didn't argue about getting in the backseat and riding silently home with them.

Once they arrived, they all went through the normal motions, including Ada opening her backpack and spreading her homework supplies on the dining table.

Amy whispered to Sheldon, "We just have to ask her. She's clearly not going to volunteer anything. Come with me."

He nodded and followed his wife as they both stopped next to Ada the table, Sheldon looking down at her over his wife's shoulder.

"Ada, your father and I want to know what happened at school today. Namely, what the . . . consequences were from the events at prom." Then Amy put her hand out and said quickly, "Not that we believe you did anything wrong or that you should suffer any consequences, but we're obviously concerned about your welfare. And Jacob's, too, of course."

"You don't need to worry. It's been taken care of," Ada replied at her coolest.

"Taken care of?" Amy asked, turning and furrowing her eyebrows in Sheldon direction. "What about Jacob? And Liam?"

"All the loose ends have been tied up." Ada looked down and calmly opened her notebook.

"I think that we deserve -" Amy started.

"Ada. You will tell your mother what happened and how all the loose end have been tied and you will tell her now," Sheldon said firmly.

Their daughter sighed quietly but turned in her chair. "Fine. Despite the fact that it was a chaperoned event, the crowd on the dance floor was such that apparently no person in a position of power actually saw what took place." Sheldon felt his eyebrows go up. That was good, right? "However, I knew that rumors would eventually reach Principal Higgins. So I went to Liam this morning and reminded him that there is a zero tolerance policy for any form of sexual harassment at our school. And that the only acceptable reason for a physical altercation was to defend oneself from unwanted sexual advances. I merely pointed out that his basketball scholarship would surely be in serious jeopardy if it became known to his college choice that he had committed an act of sexual harassment. As for his broken nose, I reminded him how embarrassing and socially damaging to him it would be for everyone to know that it was broken by me, a mere nerdy girl, while defending myself from his unwelcome advances."

As Amy gasped, Sheldon said, "But you didn't break his nose, Jacob did!"

She continued as if she hadn't heard them. "And, so, by the time he and Jacob were called into Principal Higgins office, Liam informed her that Jacob had dropped his phone and when they both bent down to retrieve it at the same time, Jacob's head accidentally hit him in the face. And despite the rumors, no one actually saw what happened. It was all mere speculation on the part of the student body."

Amy gasped even louder this time as Sheldon said, "But that's not what happened! That's not what you and Jacob both told us. I saw Jacob's hands!"

"It's a mystery. According to Liam, Jacob was so terrified at being in the principal's office that he couldn't speak, only nod."

Sheldon glanced down to notice that Amy was visibly shaking. Was she cold? "Ada Fowler Cooper," she growled, "I cannot believe you would lie like that!"

"I didn't lie." Ada protested. "I merely reminded Liam of some pertinent facts, and he came to me later in the day to tell me that he remembers a different sequence of events than I do. The human memory is not infallible, regardless of what Dad claims."

Sheldon felt his jaw go slack. What was happening here?

"I cannot believe that you would lie to your own advantage like that about something so serious." He also didn't think he'd ever heard Amy so angry. She wasn't even yelling, and he knew that was a bad sign.

"It wasn't to my advantage; you just said yourself that I didn't do anything wrong and shouldn't suffer any consequences, and I haven't. And, again, I didn't lie, I merely reminded -"

"Do not quibble over technicalities, young lady," Amy said.

"Dad says one should always quibble over the technicalities. The beauty of the universe is in the technicalities," Ada said.

Given Amy's wrath, Sheldon had the sinking feeling he should have never said that to her. Even if it was true.

"We did _not_  raise you to bend the rules. We did  _not_ raise you to mock the serious crime of sexual assault or to take it lightly."

"I didn't bend the rules!" Ada stood sharply, crossing her arm to look down at her mother, and Sheldon really, really wished she hadn't. He wondered if he could back a step or two away, if that would be noticed. "And I'm  _not_  mocking sexual assault. Since when did sexual harassment become sexual assault? I said harassment and you jumped to conclusions. You're the one that told me any unwanted physical action against my person, no matter how small, is an aggressive act and I shouldn't allow it to happen. So what difference does it make if someone else jumped in to protect me before I could perform my own self-defense?"

"How dare you throw my words back in my face as an insult!"

"I'm not! I'm just repeating what you always told me! You always told me there that there are no gray areas, no matter what any man tried to claim, that my body is own possession to protect and treat as I saw fit."

Amy's hands balled up into fists. Oh, Lordy. Sheldon felt his breath coming more shallow. "Even if that is the case, why would you use it to your own advantage? Self-defense is one thing, self-promotion is another."

"You're overreacting. I didn't self-promote anything. Why don't you understand I gain nothing from this outcome? Only Jacob does!"

Silence.

"You lied for Jacob? Did he put you up to this?" Amy hissed.

"No! He knew nothing about it! He still doesn't. I was going to tell him this evening, but you and Dad just couldn't wait for him to drive me home, you  _just had to_ come get me."

"Because we are your parents and you are minor and don't you forget it!"

Sheldon head's had snapped back and forth between the two of them. There had been many, many ugly arguments when Ada was younger, especially the year she was eleven with her braces and her snotty attitude but this . . . this wasn't a petty disagreement about clothes or chores that had blown up. The worst part is that he . . . he actually saw both sides. He couldn't easily side with Amy. Ada was being just as logical as she was.

"God, you are so demanding and clingy! I'm going to college in four months! Then you won't be able to treat me like a child!"

"You are a child. Our child! And if you keep this up, you won't be going anywhere in four months!"

"Phhhffltt, yeah right." Ada rolled her eyes. "Like you and Dad are going change your mind and decide I don't need further education."

"Get out of my sight. Now!"

"Mom -"

"I said go to your room!"

Finally Ada shifted and looked over at him, and Sheldon swallowed. "I think you'd better do what your mother told you to do."

"Ugh!" Ada threw her hands up but she left, stomping her feet the entire way until they heard her door slam.

Amy rotated in from of him, and he could finally see her thunderous face. "You could have been more supportive!"

"I was. I told her to obey you," Sheldon said.

"You didn't back me up once!"

"You seemed to be doing quite well on your own."

"I should have known you'd be on her side!"

"On her side?" Sheldon crossed his own arms. "Why is this my fault now? You're the one who wanted her to go to prom so badly!"

"You've always indulged her." Then Amy curled her face up and lowered her voice. "The beauty of the universe is in the technicalities."

Sheldon's head snapped back. Was Amy . . . mocking him? "I thought we were meant to be presenting a united front."

"That's hard to do when you cowed behind me the whole time."

"I wasn't cowing behind. It's only logical that I'd stand behind you as I'm taller than you!"

She walked away from him and went to sit on the sofa. Sheldon paused, then licked his lips, and followed her. "Amy, I -"

"I know, this isn't about us," she said, her voice resigned. "I was just venting. I'm sorry."

"I was venting, too." He sat down next to her.

"What do we do?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't even know if there's anything we can or should do."

"She's right, you know. I did tell her that about sexual assault. And I do believe that, even an unwanted kiss should not be allowed. So, technically, she could say that. But it feels like . . . it feels dismissive to all those woman who have been victims of far, far greater crimes." Amy sighed. "I guess I should just be grateful that the threat of an unwanted kiss is the worst that's ever happened to her."

The whole topic made Sheldon nauseous. The very idea of someone doing something to Ada - or Amy - like that. "Her motives were pure," he said suddenly to change the subject.

Amy nodded. "I know. Which only makes it worse. How do I make her realize that the end doesn't always justify the means? Especially when the end is saving her friend's scholarship to MIT?"

"I don't know," Sheldon said. He took a deep breath. "Do you want me to call the principal tomorrow and tell her the truth? I don't know if it would work, but I have several contacts at MIT from when I went out there to give all those lectures in January, so perhaps I could save Jacob's scholarship that way."

She took his hand. "No, Sheldon. We can't accuse Ada of bending the rules and then bend them ourselves."

They sat for several minutes in silence, Sheldon's mind still churning. There really seemed no way out of this situation. They had spent all day dreading the consequences, and now they were unsatisfied with the way Ada had so deftly side-stepped those consequences. It didn't help that her solution was so neat, so perfectly logical. Her arguments, even if wrong, were so clearly presented and . . . so logical. But Sheldon knew that everything was still far too delicate to bring that up.

"Logic is a cruel mistress," Amy said softly, as though she'd heard his very thoughts, dropping his hand. "I think I just want to read alone in bed tonight. Eat without me, I'm not hungry." Then she got up to walk toward the bedroom.

Sheldon, still lost and confused, didn't contradict her.

* * *

Later, after a silent evening in which both he and Ada tip-toed to the kitchen to make themselves a small meal before retreating to their private spaces once more, Sheldon finally stood from his desk and stretched. It was a little early for bed, but he thought he might brave the bedroom, to see if Amy wanted any tea or, more likely, some cocoa before bed.

But he was surprised to find the lights already turned off and Amy curled up in bed, the covers pulled up high. Being as quiet as possible, he prepared for bed and carefully slid in next to her, using only the lowest light sitting on his iKindle to guide his path. Only once he settled did he notice what sounded like a damp sniff from her side of the bed.

"Amy? Are your ill?" he whispered over her turned back.

"No," she replied, and Sheldon heard it. Not even a sob; instead, the most painful sort of soft crying that she couldn't seem to stop.

"Amy, what's wrong?" He leaned over and put his hand on her arm. "I know you're angry with Ada, but tomorrow will be calmer."

"That's not it. I can't be angry with her because I've failed. I've failed in so many things I wanted to do correctly, that I want to do better . . . And she'll be leaving soon and it's too late."

"No, you haven't failed at anything. Here, roll over." He tugged on her gently and she came, setting her damp face into the crook of his neck. "I know that Ada's calm logic can be . . . confusing to you, but it's a way for her structure her passions within her mind. It's only because she feels so strongly that she studies and finds a loophole."

"See, you've always understood her better."

"I don't think so. She's stubborn as a mule. I don't know where she gets it."

Amy hiccuped into his neck. "Are you worried about her? What if she makes a bad choice about something important while she's at Harvard?"

"I worry about her every day," he admitted. "And . . . I'm not saying this to antagonize you, but I'm not convinced it was the completely incorrect choice. Perhaps just not the best choice or the one we would have chosen."

She shifted and put her head on his chest. "I think you're right. And I don't know how to feel about that." She took a deep breath and reached up to rub her face. "At some point, I guess we just have to let her make these less-than-ideal decisions."

"So we're not going to do anything now?"

"Not tomorrow. I need to think about it."

"Okay." Sheldon reached up to run his hand through Amy's hair. He didn't know how long they laid away in silence that night, both of them thinking about it more than they cared to.

* * *

No sooner had she settled into the sofa with her bowl of cereal, than her eyebrows went up as she heard her mother approaching. Ada turned her head and looked at her father out of the corner of her eye. "Is something up? Is that why you haven't started  _Star Trek_  yet?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Except his body language said he knew everything.

Ada sighed deeply. Was there going to be a speech? She really didn't want a speech. Haven't Mom said enough - and very loudly - on Monday evening? Ada had been hoping her silence on the topic of prom all week was a sign that she was going to let things be. Ada, for one, certainly wanted to put the whole event behind her as soon as possible.

"Good morning, Ada," Mom said, coming around the corner. She was dressed, even though it was early on a Saturday.

"Good morning, Mom," Ada mumbled back.

"After you've eaten breakfast, please dress in clothing you don't mind getting dirty and have a full range of motion in."

Pulling her head back and furrowing her brows, Ada asked, "Why?"

"Because we have plans today. First, we are volunteering at the women's abuse shelter, doing whatever they ask of us. Then, we are scheduled for a self-defense class at two."

"But why?"

"Besides the obvious fact that we lead privileged lives and should volunteer for those less fortunate, I think it would do us both good to be reminded of the tragedy of spousal and sexual abuse so that we will not become complacent. And the self-defense class is to teach us both how to fight as hard as we can to never become the victim of any sort of assault."

Ada frowned. There was nothing she could say in response that wouldn't sound uncaring or flippant, and Mom knew it. Her parents weren't brilliant at chess in a vacuum. Instead, she turned to her father. "Dad?"

He turned his palms up as Mom said, "The self-defense class was his idea."

There was no use complaining or grumbling or any other tactic Ada could think of to get out this. She knew her parents well enough to know that. Not to mention that her mother - darn her! - made some excellent points. Most importantly, Ada knew without being told that if she fulfilled these wishes than the whole thing would be forgotten. They didn't agree with her method of dealing with it, but they didn't disagree enough to interfere. They were, for once, letting her decide. If they were going to treat her like an adult, she should act like one.

Taking a deep breath, Ada sat up a little straighter. "Okay. It's a good idea, I think, since I'll be on campus next year."

Mom nodded and then went to the kitchen to get her own breakfast.

"Thank you," Dad leaned over and whispered. "I'll worry about you, you know." He paused. "But hopefully you've inherited your mother's right hook."

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	121. Jonathan Livingston Seagull

**_Thank you to ShAmy4eva for this book suggestion._ **

**_And, as always, thank you to all my readers for your reviews!_ **

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**July 2039**

**Primary Topic: _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_ by Richard Bach and Russell Munson**

**Additional Book(s) Mentioned: the _Dune_  series by Frank Herbert**

* * *

Ada watched the coffee maker grind the beans and bit her lower lip.  _I will call them today. I will tell them today. They will be unhappy, but it will pass. I will call them today. Why do only my parents make me nervous?_

Just then, her watch buzzed. Not just the silent tapping of a normal message, but the buzzing of a phone call on her approved contact list. Pushing her still-tangled morning hair out of her eyes, she looked down and frowned. Mom. What time was it in Los Angles? Too early for Mom to be awake.

Tapping the face of her watch to accept the call, she asked, "Mom?"

"Ada, sweetheart. Did I wake you?"

It was the question that worried Ada more than the phone call itself. If Mom hadn't looked at the clock and hadn't done the mental math - "Mom, what's wrong?"

"Please don't be alarmed but - but it's your father. He, he -" Her voice broke.

How on Earth could she  _not_  be alarmed by that? Ada gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. "Dad? Mom, what's wrong?"

"We're at the hospital. He woke up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and - and we think he had a - a heart attack."

"Daddy!" Forgetting all about the coffee brewing and the cats meowing for their breakfast, Ada tore through her small rented bungalow to the bedroom, her long legs churning almost as much as her stomach. "Is he - is he?"

_No, no, no,_ she prayed.

"He's here. They're doing an electrocardiogram right now," Amy said. "They won't let me in."

Listening to her mother sobbing on the other end of the phone, Ada reached up into top of the closet to pull down a suitcase. Dylan stirred in bed at the ruckus and murmured, "Ada, what's going on?"

Ignoring him, Ada ran into the spare bedroom that was mostly used as a closet for herself, and she started to grab and dump clothes into the suitcase, not even pausing to carefully fold them like she normally would. "I'm coming, Mom. I'm leaving Bloomington and getting on a flight. Who's there with you now? Is anyone there with you?"

"No, it all happened so fast, I just - I-" The sobs broke through Mom's words again.

"Mom, I'm calling Raj and Stuart. I'll call you right back." She pressed her watch and then reached for her hair brush. "Computer, call Uncle Raj."

There were two rings that felt like an eternity before the call was answered by Uncle Stuart's sleepy voice. "Hello? Ada?"

"Stuart! Is Raj there?" she asked, pulling the brush through her tangles in a hurry and wincing at the pain.

"He's here beside me. We were asleep. What's wrong?" She heard their new dog bark in the background and some muffled speaking.

"Ada?" Dylan's head popped around the corner, rubbing his eyes. Ada waved her free hand to silence him.

"I don't know the details, but Dad's had a heart attack and Mom at is the hospital alone. Someone needs to go be with her." Ada glanced down and realized she was still wearing flannel pajama pants. She pulled them down and reached for a pair of jeans. "I'm on my way. I need to call her back."

"Oh!" Stuart's voice became clearer. "I'll rally the troops."

"Thank you. I love you!" Ada called, hanging up even in the middle of Stuart's "We love -"

"Your dad had a heart attack?" Dylan asked. "You're leaving?"

"Obviously." Ada reached down to zip the suitcase shut.

"What about breakfast? And you're still wearing your pajama top. Have you showered? Ada, you need to calm down."

She looked up sharply. "Now is not the time to be calm. You wouldn't understand."

"I think you should wait and see if you're needed before you just run -" Dylan started in his usual sedate tones.

"You don't know my parents like I do. If Dad - if Dad -" She closed her eyes. "It will kill Mom, too."

She stood and wheeled the suitcase past him and grabbed her messenger bag.

"Ada, you're usually more logical than this. No one really dies from a broken heart, so your mother will be fine. And you know a heart attack isn't usually fatal anymore and -"

She turned sharply at the front door. "My MeeMaw died during a routine heart cath. And my dad's father died because of his heart. I'm going. Feed the cats."

Almost running down the sidewalk, squinting in the sunrise, pulling her suitcase behind her, thankful the train station was only a few blocks away, Ada instructed Siri, "Computer, call Mom."

* * *

Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait for the commuter train to Indianapolis arrive. Fortunately, it was running every fifteen minutes this time of day. Hurry up and wait for the Concorde at the airport, although she had fortunately caught the single daily flight out to Los Angles. It cost a fortune but time was more important than money; that's what her emergency credit card was for, wasn't it? Hurry up and wait, soaring above the plain states and the mountains.

Finally, hurry up and hurry up and get to the hospital. She was in such a hurry, Ada didn't even see him, but she finally stopped and turned when she heard him yell, "Ada Fowler Cooper! Stop!"

"Jacob," she said, as he came trotting over to her, out of breath, "what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? Yelling your name repeatedly. Picking you up at the airport. Taking you to the hospital." He reached over for her suitcase, and in her surprise, she let him take it. "Uncle Raj called."

"Don't you have to be at work?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I'll be late, that's all. What kind of man would I be if I let you travel in such a state by yourself? Come on, my car's in the garage."

Spurred to action, freed from the weight of her suitcase, Ada took off toward the parking garage.

"Not so fast," Jacob called from behind her. "Your legs are a lot longer than mine, you know!"

* * *

"Mom!" Ada called, running down the hallway toward the knot of people in the waiting room. Almost everyone was there: Leonard, Penny, Stuart, Raj, Howard. Bernadette, Jacob had told her on the drive, was on her way. But it was only her mother she saw, it was only her mother who stood and allowed Ada to fold her into her arms.

They made quite a pair, obviously both dressed in a hurry, Ada's long hair down and puffy behind her. "Mom, how is he?"

"He's okay. They're going to do an angioplasty and probably a stent or two. They think that's all he needs. I saw him after the tests. He was tired but just as contrary as ever," Amy whispered into her daughter's chest.

Ada let out the breath she'd been holding since six forty that morning, dozens of states away. "Well, that's good, right? Can I see him?"

Mom shook her head and pulled away. "He's sleeping. They said they'd come get me when he wakes up."

Pushing her hair back, Ada nodded. "Okay. We wait." Hurry up and wait.

Then she looked around the waiting room. "Wow, Uncle Stuart, you really did rally the troops."

Aunt Penny got up and came to hug Ada. "Oh, sweetie, of course we all came. It's what we do."

* * *

It was probably disgusting, but it was food and Ada was starved, having missed breakfast in the panic. Mom, too, was digging into her hospital cafeteria lunch. Here they were, hurrying up and waiting again. It felt strange to be eating with gusto while in another room her father's arteries were being probed and stretched and opened.

"I'm surprised you got them all to leave," Ada said.

"Thank you for calling Stuart. I wasn't thinking clearly, it was good to have everyone here," Amy said. "Then I saw him and you came . . ." She took a deep breath. "I'm better now, and I think they knew we would okay, the two of us."

Ada smiled softly and reached out to squeeze her mother's hand. They had had their ups and downs over the years, but all those petty disagreements about clothes and other trivialities seemed unimportant now.

And Dad - Daddy! - why had she ever fought with him? They had been allowed to see him, when they woke him just before they took him in for the angioplasty. He looked so pale and small, not at all like the larger than life father she had grown up with and loved. But he managed to smile at her and he whispered, "At least it's not a stroke. My brain is intact. Quiz me."

Even between her tears, Ada chuckled and kissed his clammy forehead. "Later, Dad. I promise. I'll think of something extra challenging."

She'd left the room, so Mom could be alone with him for a minute, and she started to watch them though the glass window. But she had to turn away with Dad reached up and ran his fingers along Mom's face. It was too voyeuristic, watching them; the waves of emotion that they sent coursing through universe every time they looked at each other like that were almost too much stand. Ada leaned her back against the window and put her hand over her heart, the force of her parent's love actually piercing her.

"I hate waiting," Mom said.

"Me, too," Ada agreed. "We could try to talk about something else."

Mom shook her head. "Like what?"

"Um . . . what's the last book you read?"

Mom surprised her by chuckling and pulling her hand away. "You'll think it's silly. Your father does, I know.  _Jonathan Livingston Seagull._ "

Ada furrowed her brow. "I've never heard of it."

"It's very old. And very . . . unusual. And short. I picked it because there's a movie and Neil Diamond did the soundtrack," Mom explained. "One of the songs came up on my iTunes and it made me realize I'd never read it." Then she chuckled again. "How funny, here it is, Book Club day, and this is how your father and I would start Book Club, talking about why we picked the book."

"So much for talking about something else," Ada said softly. Her mother may have never admitted it given her feminist ideals, but, other than the pure science of her work, Dad had permeated every facet of her life, and it was impossible to remove him from discussion. But, then again, maybe Mom would have freely admitted it, Ada thought, remembering them together in the hospital room, just before she looked away. "It was it your Book Club selection?"

Mom nodded. "Your father has been complaining about it all month. But I wanted something light. We just finished all those Books Clubs in a row reading the  _Dune_  books, and they were awful."

"Dad's choice?"

"Yes. But it was my fault. I said I'd never read it. I would have been content to stop with the first one - it actually was pretty good, I should be fair, but then they got progressively worse - but, well," Mom shrugged, "you know your father."

"I do," Ada said with a smile. "Mom, how short is it? Can I read it?"

"Very short. Here, I'll send it to you," she said as she took her phone out of her purse. A second later, Ada's watch tapped her on the wrist.

"Thanks." Ada looked down to confirm it had downloaded. "Maybe we should go back up?"

They stood and took their trays to the trash area. As they walked toward the elevator Mom asked, "Ada, what  _are_ you wearing? Is that a pajama top?"

Ada looked down at the yellow tee shirt, with a large blue cat in the middle. She looked back up and raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"Please tell me that was a happy accident," Mom said as the elevator door opened.

Smiling, Ada replied, "You must be feeling better if you're giving me grief about my clothes."

"And you must be feeling better if you're letting me think it was on purpose."

* * *

"Mom?" Ada knocked softly on her mother's bedroom door.

"Come in."

Ada opened the door and frowned as she spotted her mother wiping her face. "Mom, are you crying?" Without asking permission, Ada crawled across the bed toward her mother, careful to avoid upsetting Belle, who was curled up at her mother's side for warmth. "It's all okay, Mom. He's fine, the doctor said so. He's coming home tomorrow. Just a better diet and one pill for the rest of his life."

"I know." Mom reached out for her, and Ada allowed herself to be pulled into a hug. "It's silly, I know. But he looked so pale afterwards, didn't he? And the way he was lying perfectly flat on that table. It was like he was a - a-"

She didn't have to end her sentence. Ada thought it, too, gasping when she first saw him; he looked like a corpse. Nodding, Ada squeezed her mother tighter. "But he was so happy to see you."

"Oh, that. That's just the look you always get from someone you love. I'm sure you look at Dylan like that all time."

Ada pulled away. "Dylan."

"What?" Mom asked, her brow furrowed.

"I never did text him to let him that Dad was okay. Just that I landed safely."

"Well, do it now."

"No," Ada shook her head, "it's late there now."

"Won't he be worried?"

"No. Dylan's not the anxious type," Ada said, leaning back against the headboard.

"I mean, won't he be worried about you?" The line between Mom's eyebrows had only gotten deeper.

"It's fine, Mom. Neither Dylan or I are hysterical people. It's why we get along so well."

"I don't think worrying about how the love of your life is holding up under stressful circumstances and being concerned when they don't call is hysterical. Even if he were angry, I wouldn't call it hysterical," Mom said.

"Oh, what would you call it?" Ada said sharply.

"Passion."

Even though she rolled her eyes, Ada looked away. She was not going to fight with her mother tonight of all nights. Not about Dylan, whom she knew her parents were never crazy about, not about anything.

"Ada, can I tell you a story?" Mom asked softly. "About your father?"

"Yes," she answered, looking back at her. Apparently Mom had decided to drop it, too.

"We had been . . . dating, I guess, for a couple of months, and I joined him for lunch at Caltech. This was when I was still at UCLA." Mom leaned back against the headboard, too. "We had an argument about whether physics or neurobiology was the better field to study. It was a true fight, we said very harsh things too loudly. And we decided to stop seeing each other, as friends or otherwise."

Ada raised her eyebrows when Mom paused. "I never knew you broke up."

"I don't think you'd call it. We weren't boyfriend and girlfriend yet. I missed him, but I was so angry and stubborn. I genuinely thought I didn't need someone in my life who was going to argue with me and not see things exactly the same way I did. And then his mother called -"

"MeeMaw?" Ada asked.

"Yes, and, I don't know if you remember this, but when your MeeMaw spoke, you listened." Amy chuckled. Ada nodded. She had only a few hazy memories of the straight-talking Texan woman, but she knew she was ferocious at protecting her children. "I miss her. She saved us once, I think. Anyway, she called and told me that your father had adopted twenty-five cats and wouldn't leave the house without at least one of them."

"Wait, what?" Ada shook her head. "Is that why I had to beg and beg to get a cat, because Dad was an animal hoarder?" Ada looked down and stroked Belle's head, and the elderly feline raised it slightly at the additional affection.

"Yes, I think so. Anyway, I went over to your father's apartment, and we agreed to be friends again. Then we gave away the cats together."

"So you took him back to appease MeeMaw?"

"No, dear. I went over there to appease your grandmother. But he said some things about how alike we were, and I realized that our argument was just another example of that. It wasn't that we were clones of each other or that we always agreed or even that that we always got along. We could be - and sometimes still are - in passionate disagreement about something. What makes us alike in the ways that matter despite our differences is that we both bring the same level of passion to the relationship."

Ada frowned. So this was about Dylan, after all. What did her mother want her know about this story? That fighting was good? But Dylan didn't like confrontation or tension. And she thought better when everything was calm in the house. She'd never been loud and demonstrative like her parents could be at times, especially Dad. It wasn't that she didn't feel passion, it was just that she learned to mitigate its outward signs to help her think and to have peace in her relationship. It's why Jacob used to drive her crazy as a young child, always picking fights with her. Until he got older, of course, and then they'd be able to disagree like adults . . . But that's why she and Dylan got along so well; they had never once had an argument, even those calm but passionate disagreements that she and Jacob had mastered. Some people didn't believe her, and those that did, like Yasmine, rolled their eyes every time Ada said or alluded to it. Or, wait, was their interaction before she ran out the door this morning, so many hours ago, an argument? Neither of them had raised their voices. But she had been passionate, she supposed, desperate to leave, desperate to get to California as soon as possible. And Dylan had been selfish. No,  _confused_. She pushed the previous word out of her head.

Shaking her head, pushing Dylan away, too, Ada said, "Can we talk about the book?"

* * *

Balancing the tray with care, Ada tiptoed out of the great room, her mother sound asleep on the sofa. Ada knew she hadn't sleep well last night, she was already up and dressed and cleaning out the pantry when Ada woke up at 6:30. And Mom was never up before her.

The door was open and Ada smiled to see Dad was there, propped up on the clean sheets in clean pajamas, reading, as though nothing had ever happened. Belle was curled up next to him, proof that she had fully become her parents' cat now.

"Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?" Ada asked.

"Is everyone going to ask me that every time they see me from now on?" he asked with a sigh, peering at her over his glasses.

Ada smiled. Dad was the only man on Earth for whom irritation was good sign. "Maybe. Here, I brought you some chicken noodle soup and hot tea."

He turned to put his iKindle away and allowed Ada to arrange the tray over his lap. "Does it look okay? Do you need anything else?"

"Where's your mother?" he asked, picking up his spoon.

"She fell asleep on the sofa. She's exhausted. I know she didn't sleep well last night and the night before, well . . . Anyway, she said she couldn't sleep without you."

"Poor kid," Dad said softly. "After the sedative wore off, I couldn't sleep without her, either." Ada smiled softly again at this statement. God, her parents were so in love it was gross sometimes. Dad wrinkled up his nose as he swallowed. "Ugh. What is this? I thought you said it was chicken noodle soup."

"It is. Low sodium chicken noodle soup. Mom and I went to the grocery store and restocked the pantry before we went to pick you up this morning."

Dad sighed deeply. "Is this my punishment?"

"Yes. To remind you to never scare us like that again," Ada said firmly, crossing her arms.

He looked up at her. "Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother."

Ada couldn't help it, she smiled. She looked nothing like her mother, and he knew it. But she would indulge him a bit today. "Dad, did you know? I mean, did you have any chest pains or palpitations or anything? Even the tiniest flutter in your chest?"

"Only every time your mother walks in the room," he said softly.

Struck by the same wave of emotion that she was in the hospital, Ada's hand went up on reflex to touch her aching chest. It was not like her father to say such things in her presence. Taking about Mom's brilliance or brushing his hand over her shoulders as he passed her, yes, always, but Ada knew he always thought his blatant love was hidden.

"Yes, it feels just like that." He nodded slightly. Realizing where her hand was, Ada dropped it and the spell seemed to be broken. "Here -" Dad patted the bed next to him "- sit down and talk to me. It's not everyday you're home. Tell me about school."

Ada walked around the bed and sat on her mother's side and crossed her legs, facing her father. "School's okay."

"Just okay? Is it not challenging enough?" he asked, taking another bite of his soup. He grimaced again, but less this time.

"No, it's not that, it's fine."

"Is it because you're stuck out in the boondocks of Indiana? Transfer."

"No, Dad," Ada said firmly. "I love IU. I love Bloomington. It's the quietist cosmopolitan city possible. Like a secret jewel. The quiet suits me, I think. Plus, you know Captain Janeway is from there."

Dad grunted slightly at the ace Ada always played when she discussed Bloomington.

Ada took a deep breath. "Dad, did you finish  _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_?"

Swallowing some tea, he looked over at her. "Yes. Why? How did you know it was this - last month's Book Club selection?"

"Mom told me. I read it at the hospital, during your procedure. It's very short."

"It is. I was surprised Amy picked such a short book."

"She said you complained about it all month. Did you hate it?"

Dad shook his head and looked down into his soup. "No. I didn't hate it. Technically, I only complained about the length. It was strange, using seagulls as a metaphor like that, but it was fine."

"Do you remember when it said 'the most important thing in living was to reach out and touch perfection in that which they most loved to do'?"

"Of course I remember." Dad sighed softly, taking another spoonful of soup. "Your mother asks me that all the time during Book Club, too." Ada smiled because it was obvious how much he enjoyed it. Then he continued, louder, "It's what I enjoyed about this book: that life is a constant struggle for perfection, that the most important thing one can do is to always be learning more, striving to understand more, discovering new things, teaching others those new things. 'Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect,'" he quoted.

"But it's not just being perfect at any random thing, it's being perfect at the thing you love most. You have to understand who you really are and you practice at it until you are perfect at it," Ada said, "whether you are idolized or scorned."

Dad tilted his head slightly. "Yes, I believe you are correct."

"Dad, I . . ." Ada took a deep breath. "I don't want to get my PhD in mathematics."

The spoon was lowered with a clang. "What? You love math, that's what one of your undergraduate degrees is in. Your mother and I resigned ourselves to it, as mathematics is the building block of all the sciences."

"I know. And I do enjoy math in general, but I prefer to be more focused. My true love is geometry, you know that. I believe there is more to learn in geometry, that not all of the proofs have been made. Most mathematicians disagree, but I think so. But not just geometry, either. I love Japanese. And writing. And art. And drawing. And graphic novels. I want to get my degree in that," she said in a rush.

"All of those things? One at a time? Are there graduate studies in comic books? And, even if there were, I don't understand. What would you do with that? Or Japanese. Surely the entire Japanese language is known and understood by the actual Japanese." His voice was raising slightly, and Ada put her hand out touch his arm. She did not think it was wise for him to get hysterical right now.

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up right now, maybe it's not good for you, but I've decided I'm changing my degree focus when the fall semester starts. Indiana University has an individualized degree program, and I put in an application to get my PhD in the study of geometric principles found in Cubism. It was approved a few days ago."

"But you didn't even ask us!"

Ada took a deep breath. "It's not your decision. Or Mom's. I'm an adult. This is my life, my education, my brain. I'm - I'm spreading my wings and flying."

"But we worry about you!"

"I know. You're my parents, it's your job."

"We don't it because it's our job. We care because we love you."

"I know that, too."

"I suppose you've already told your mother to garner her support. She's always coddled you," he grumbled.

"No, she hasn't. I wanted you to be the first to know. I don't need your permission, but I'd love your . . . blessing."

Dad took her hand off his arm and squeezed it as he looked down at his tray. "As long as you don't fly away from us. We couldn't bear it."

"Oh, Dad," Ada whispered and leaned forward to rest her forehead against the side of his head. "I'm not flying away, I promise. I'm just flying up higher."

"'Yet he felt guiltless, breaking the promises he had made to himself. Such promises are only for the gulls that accept the ordinary. One who has touched excellence in his learning has no need of that kind of promise,'" Dad said.

"'He spoke of very simple things - that it is the right for a gull to fly, that freedom is the very nature of being, that whatever stands against that freedom must be set aside,'" Ada whispered back.

"If you're going to do this," Dad said softly, his voice thick with emotion, "I expect the best. I expect you to run rings about geometry. I expect you to shatter proofs. I expect you to make Picasso look like a nincompoop and his pictures mere doodles. I expect you to soar."

Ada chuckled and reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I will, Dad. I promise. If you promise to be healthy so you're still here to watch me. I think we still need those types of promises." She backed up and looked down at her father. "Eat the rest of your low sodium soup."

Dad picked up her hand and kissed it before letting it go and reaching for his spoon. "Tell me about your ideas. Did you save your application? I want to see it."

* * *

He was exactly where she expected to find him, in the backyard, on his knees, his hands buried deep in the dirt.

"Jacob, these flowers are gorgeous," Ada said, looking at his closely-cropped brown hair.

He rocked back on his heels, squinting up at her in the sun. "Ada! I didn't expect you." His grin was large and genuine. He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, the brown soil mixing with all the other stains. "I look awful."

"No, you look like you're working," Ada said. "I came to thank you for picking me up at the airport. And to say good-bye. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"So soon?"

"Dad is doing quite well. He's actually getting grouchy, being home from work. He goes back on Monday for half-days. Until he convinces Mom otherwise. Everything seems to have settled down. I miss my cats. My house. My studies."

"And Dylan, I'm sure," Jacob added.

"Yes, of course." Ada nodded.

There was a moment of silence and then Jacob said, "Would you like a drink? I could use a break. Beer? Soda? I think there's some lemonade."

"Are you offering me beer now? I thought I was too young to drink it."

He smiled. "I can do the math. You're legal now."

"Lemonade, thank you." Ada smiled back. They walked together to the back deck, and Ada said down while Jacob went inside. He returned several minutes later with two glasses of lemonade. She noticed he has washed his face and hands, too, as he sat down in the chair next to her.

"You've done wonders with this yard," Ada said, taking it all in, appreciating it. She had never thought about a yard growing up, as she'd never had one of her own. And there was always the Hofstadter yard or the Wolowitz yard to play in. She could always find Jacob in the back yard; although, he was probably hiding from the yelling. Even now, the house she rented had only grass. Nothing like this.

"Thanks. Dad always just hired a lawn mowing service. They just did the bare minimum of trimming on the bushes and stuff. No flowers. There were flower boxes on the front porch when Mom was here, but then once she was gone . . . " Jacob ended in a shrug.

"Your parents, are they still . . .?" Ada asked.

"Divorced but in love? Yeah, I guess so." Jacob took a long drink.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay. Actually, she was here for a couple of weeks last month, until they fought again. She's been staying longer lately . . . Besides, there's no secrets between us, you know that."

Ada smiled. "No, I guess not. Not after all these years." She took a drink. "It reminds me of a book I just read. 'If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we've destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?'"

Jacob smiled. "What a strange book that must have been!"

"It was. But I liked it." Ada smiled back. "How is the new job?"

"Fine. It's weird, working at Caltech, in the same building as Dad. I never thought I would be. It's a good job, though. I'm lucky to have it, after those few months of being unemployed. How's school?"

"I'm changing my focus for my PhD. Away from straight, broad-based mathematics. I'm going to study the use of geometric principles in Cubism."

"Wow! Cool. Did your Dad freak out?"

"A little, but not as much as I thought he would. It's not what gave him his heart attack, if you're wondering."

Jacob put up his hand. "Come on, it was a reasonable question."

Laughing, Ada said, "I guess it was."

Jacob joined her in laughing, and then he said, "I'm glad he's okay."

"Thank you. I know." Ada looked at him softly, meeting his deep brown eyes, knowing he really did mean it. The sentence had been short, but its tone was very sincere. Then she looked away. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"No. Sometimes I worry I'll end up like Dad. An old geezer, living in this house forever," Jacob said.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Jacob. I think any girl would be lucky you have you. You're smart, you have a good job, you have great hobbies like this beautiful yard, and you're - you've aged well."

"It's not about just any girl, though is it? It's about the right one." He was fidgeting, running his fingertip up and down in the condescension on the side of the glass. It was a bad habit he'd had since childhood. When he was awkward and ugly and living with two people who didn't live together in peace and ease. Ada's arm itched to reach out and still his hand, but he was sitting too far away.

"But you're only twenty-three. You have plenty of time to find the one."

"But you're only twenty-one and you've got Dylan," he said, not unkindly.

"Well, that's different." Ada shifted in her chair.

"Is it?" Jacob asked.

Ada took a drink of her lemonade instead of answering.

Finally, Jacob coughed and asked, "How's your mom holding up?"

"Fine, much better now. She was a wreck, of course, at first. But now that Dad's back to his usual self, she's getting back to her usual self. That morning she called me . . . " Ada exhaled slowly, her breath rattling. "I don't know what she'd do without him. Or vice versa. I don't mean to be morbid, but when it comes time for them to die, I sincerely hope they pass on the same day."

Jacob opened his mouth, but Ada spoke instead, staring out into the yard. "He has this way he looks at her, every single time she walks in a room. And he did it when he woke up after his procedure. It's palpable, like a current in the air. Like he's surprised to see her there. Not like he's forgotten about her. But like . . . like he can't believe he still has her, that she choose him. Like he was waiting, and, even though he's not anymore, he still remembers how it felt to wait for her." Then Ada shook her head. "Sorry. That was overly sentimental. I don't know where that came from."

"It's okay to be emotional about your dad, Ada," Jacob said softly. "And I thought it was beautiful." Ada turned to look at him, but he turned away quickly. "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"Early. And, no, you're not taking me to the airport. Uncle Stuart is. Although I'm perfectly capable of getting there myself. I don't know why all the men in my life think I can't make it to and from an airport alone."

"It's the kind thing to do for someone you care about, that's why," Jacob said. "Just ask Dylan when he picks you up."

"Oh, he won't be picking me up. He knows I value my independence," Ada said, putting her glass on the side table.

"Independence and compassion are not mutually exclusive concepts," Jacob said.

Ada stood abruptly. "I should leave. I have to pack."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it. It sounded bad, I know. I like Dylan," Jacob stood, too.

"No, it's okay. Technically, you're correct. And no secrets between us, remember?" She nodded. "We'll see each other on Instabook?"

"Sure." Jacob shrugged.

"And I'll be home for Christmas, of course," Ada added. "We'll see each other, in the middle of the Here and Now."

"I'll be waiting," Jacob said with a wave.

* * *

Compared to Concorde, the regular flight back to Indiana seems to take forever. Ada looks out the window at the clouds below and sighs. She takes a drink of Sprite, which she has gotten thinking it would settle her stomach. But something is gnawing at her from the inside out that Sprite can't cure.

Something about flying, soaring high above the Earth. And passion. And waiting. The weight of waiting, the lightness of knowing. The weight she felt from the dread of waiting to tell her parents about her decision, the lightness she felt when they knew. The lightness of flowers in bloom, like the cherry blossoms she saw in Kyoto when she was there, like the flowers Jacobs so lovingly cultivates, but yet the heaviness that has descended upon her as she returns. She thinks of the way her father looks at her mother, like she has lifted a weight off his shoulders. The weight of waiting. The flutter and ache in one's chest when the wait is over, when the weight has been lifted.

On the plane, soaring above the Earth, while everyone else is sleeping or reading, she pulls out the sketchpad she always keeps in her messenger bag. She starts to draw. She starts to write. The words and the pictures are one. They cannot be separated, one is essential for the other. She draws the story of a man that is not a man and the woman that is not a woman who saves him. The man has seen the stars and the woman has seen the molecules and yet they see the same things. The man and the woman are one. They cannot be separated, one is essential for the other. It is crude, it is rough, but is finished by the time the plane lands.


	122. Waiting

**Waiting**

* * *

_"And no secrets between us, remember?" She nodded. "We'll see each other on Instabook?"_

_"Sure." Jacob shrugged._

_"And I'll be home for Christmas, of course," Ada added. "We'll see each other, in the middle of the Here and Now."_

_"I'll be waiting," Jacob said with a wave._

* * *

She values her independence. Dylan knows this. That is why he is not at the airport to pick her up. She does not expect him to be. That is why he is not at the train station to walk her the few blocks to their shared house. She does not expect him to be.

Ada opens the front door and bends down to pet the cats that came running at her return. "Cleo! Tut! Did you miss me?" she coos at their meows of joy.

"We all missed you," Dylan says from the chair where he is holding his guitar, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he writes music.

"I missed you, too," Ada says with relief. But she does not know why she is relieved. She walks over and bends down to kiss the top of his head softly.

"How was your flight?" Dylan asks.

"Fine."

"And your dad?" He looks back down at his sheet music on the stand before him.

"Fine, now, I think. Fortunately it was a only a little scare. Maybe it will stop him from eating so much Asian take-out."

"Good," he says in an absent-minded way before strumming another cord. Something about it makes the gnawing feeling in Ada's stomach grow.

The story she wrote on the plane did not make the feeling go away. She still feels the weight, the longing, the waiting. Although she thinks maybe it helped her understand it.

"Dylan?" she asks.

"Yeah?" He still doesn't look up, changing his fingering and humming to himself.

"How long was I gone?"

"What?" He looks up then. "Uh -" she sees him silently count "- four days. Four and half now. Are you okay?"

"Why did you have to count?"

"I don't know. Why did you ask? You're the math genius."

"Did you miss me?"

"I already told you I did."

"No. Did you feel my absence? Like a weight, right here?" She presses against her chest. "And did it grow wings and flutter away when I walked in the room? Did you miss me passionately?"

Dylan wrinkles his brow. "Ada, what are you talking about? Maybe you need a nap. It was probably stressful, with your dad and all."

"With my dad  _and all_? My father almost died!" She hears her voice rising, and, for once, she doesn't try to control it.

"You said he was fine. You said it was only a little scare. And, like I said before you ran out of here, heart attacks are rarely fatal these days."

"Can't you put down your guitar and talk to me, just once?"

"We are talking. Or I'm talking. You're being uncharacteristically shrill."

Something about the peaceful way he says it makes the gnawing inside of Ada bite. "What's wrong with being shrill? Want's wrong with being passionate? Why can't you ever be passionate?"

"Is this about sex?" Dylan asks calmly. "We've talked about it, you just have a larger sex drive than I do. It's just the way it is."

"No! It's about us! You're always so calm, nothing ever ruffles your feathers, nothing gets you excited. Why can't you be passionate about me? About our relationship?"

"I'm confused. We've been together for three and half years, and all along I thought you liked that I was calm and steady and predictable. We get along. We respect each other's space. We've never had an argument. Until now, I guess," he shrugs.

"Do you think that's normal? If we had a fight, would you go adopt twenty-five cats because you missed me so much?"

"Are you drunk? Sometimes people drink more on airplanes than they realize," Dylan asks.

"No. Why can't you raise your voice just once? Why do you have to be so reasonable all the time?"

"You're one to talk. You're so logical and rational. You approach everything like a math equation." Still he doesn't raise his voice. "People think you're cold, you know, heartless. A calculating bitch. I've heard them say that before, especially when we started dating."

"So you defended me? You stood up for me?" Ada asks with a glimmer of hope. She is not shocked by this description of herself, she is aware that some people thought that about her.

"It was none of their business who I dated, so I didn't engage them. You know I don't like confrontation."

The glimmer is gone, as quickly as it came. "Engage them? What about engaging me?"

Finally, he puts down the guitar and stands up. "Ada, I don't understand what's happening here."

"I want passion, Dylan. I want somebody who picks me up the airport and runs after me just because he cares about me. I want somebody who, yes, makes love to me like they can't get enough of me. I want somebody who waits impatiently for me, I want somebody who is constantly surprised that I'm still with them, that I choose them, that lights up every single time I enter a room, because their heart is fluttering. I want what my parents have! Or at least someone who stands to meet me at the door after I've been gone for four and half days!" Ada yells the last sentence and it feels so good, screaming like this in her own home, even if it makes the cats run out of the room in terror at the new sound. With the scream, she feels the weight being lifted off her shoulders, the gnawing dying away.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Dylan asks. "If you are, just say so. I just told you I don't like confrontations. I don't like drama, either."

She stares at him, meeting him on his level. Now that the weight is gone, she be the calm, calculating woman he has obviously come to expect. She sounds unperturbed when she says it, because she is sure of her decision. "Yes. Do you have somewhere to go?"

Dylan nods. "I can sleep on Joe's couch for a while. Are you okay on rent?"

"Yes. My parents will help if I need them."

He turns and heads to the back porch to get some boxes from recycling before he goes to the bedroom to pack. She sits motionless on the couch, petting the cats who have returned, as she hears him shuffling. She is not worried that he will take anything of hers. She has never lost trust in him. She hears him mumble as he makes a phone call, and, not much later, Joe's old beat up car pulls up out front. She sits as Dylan carries out three boxes, and then he stops by the door with a fourth still in his hands

"Well, I guess this is good-bye," he says, turning to look at her. "I thought we had a good run. I would have been happy staying with you. No hard feelings?"

Ada gets up and walks over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. You're not a bad man, at all, Dylan. You'll make the right woman very happy someday. I just don't think that's me."

"That's okay."

They look at each other for a moment, and a spark of regret flares within her. There really isn't anything bad about Dylan; it's just that there is nothing she remembers with excitement or . . . passion, either. She knows she will always think about him without any bitterness. They did get along well, that is true. He followed her out here from Boston, after all. Three and half years is a lot to throw away. Perhaps she has been too rash.

But, no, this ending is proof that she has not. There is no passion here at the end. She realizes, suddenly, that she doesn't love him and maybe never has. Now she can't even remember what held them together for three and half years other than habit. And even that thought doesn't make her sad, just disappointed in herself. She smiles softly, and Dylan turns and leaves. It is not true love if it ends with a whimper.

Later, she will call her mother and tell her the whole story, even all the embarrassing details that she always hid away before. She will tell her mother that she was correct all along, that Ada wished she's listened to her before, that she understands now what her mother was trying to tell her doing all those lectures: that love is passion. That she should be so lucky to find someone she loves as much as her parents love each other. But, for now, she doesn't even sob for Dylan. She just sits on the couch and lets a few tears roll silently down her cheeks, before she calls her mother. Dylan would approve.

* * *

Grandmother Fowler taught her the importance of a timely and well-composed thank you note. So, in the midst of her strange calmness about the end of her first relationship, Ada dutifully sits down and writes a thank you to Jacob for picking her up at the airport. She pauses, her fountain pen above the page, and wonders if she should thank him for that afternoon on his back porch. But then she thinks that is just what one good friend does for another, and to thank a good friend for being present is akin to thanking the air for oxygen. Instead, she writes, in the beautiful calligraphy she also learned from Grandmother Fowler, "I am thankful we have remained friends all these years, despite the distance. We'll always be in the Here and Now." It is a short note, because Grandmother Fowler also taught her all thank you notes should be concise. Too effusive a thanks is vulgar. Its value lies not in the words, but in the thought and in its quaint old-fashionedness. Ada almost forgets about it because there is so much else on her mind and because sending thank you notes is a long habit of hers.

Surprised, she receives a note in the post a week later from Jacob. It is written on a torn sheet of graft paper and his handwriting is small, cramped, awful. "I heard about your break-up. I'm sorry. Please feel free to call me if you need to talk. Otherwise I will give you your privacy." Ada is touched beyond words. True to his promise, he says nothing to her on social media about it. But, a week or so later, she wakes up unexpectedly at 4:30. She has woken up at 6:30 for as long as she can remember, and the dark stillness unsettles her in some fashion. Unable to go back to sleep, she wraps up in her robe, feeds the cats early, and makes coffee.

Not sure why she does it, she sits at her desk and begins to write a lengthy letter on the heavy cream paper she rarely uses. She writes about switching her focus of study, telling him all the details she left out that afternoon on the porch: how she told her parents, her father's initial dismay, her mother's support even in the midst of confusion, the meeting she had the day before with her advisors, some ideas she has had to further refine her theories. She doesn't write about her feelings, really, just her version of events, and she never once mentions Dylan.

A week later, there is a full sheet of graph paper. Jacob writes about his job at Caltech and how he looks out his window at the gardeners. He writes about looking for a roommate and an apartment, because he is determined not to live with his father forever. He writes a brief sentence about each of his parents, and a longer sentence about hers because he has seen them recently. He doesn't mention his feelings, but Ada can feel something forlorn in the paragraph about the Caltech gardeners.

She writes back about the start of her new studies, changes she has made to the house now that Dylan is gone, first about swimming and then about leaves turning and falling, about the Lotus Festival downtown, about quiet Sundays at the Art Museum, her Halloween costume, and meeting her parents in Texas for Thanksgiving. He writes about fall flowers, about a chess club he has joined in an effort to meet people, about quiet Sundays at the beach, his Halloween costume, and his awkward Thanksgiving with both his parents. She draws little sketches of people and places, he describes everything with self-effacing humor.

As promised, Ada goes home for Christmas, and she and Jacob meet for coffee and talk. It is as though they never left, their conversation picking up where their last letters left off. At Leonard and Penny's Christmas party, they sit on the stairs and listen to the adults talking in the living room and their younger cousins talking and pretending to be sullen and bored in Frannie's room. They are shocked when their parents start playing some old card game called Cards Against Humanity, and they pass horrified looks back and forth. When it is Ada's father's turn to choose his favorite card, they have to run away. Jacob collapses laughing in the hallway, but all Ada can manage is a shocked smile.

At Howard's New Years Eve party, Ada gets a little tipsy and so does Jacob and they dance in the kitchen, Jacob making fun of her because she can't find the rhythm. They are standing next to each other when the countdown begins, but they both turn at the last second and kiss someone else on the cheek. But their eyes meet nonetheless.

Across the miles, across the different climates, across the time zones, the letters fly as fast as the postal service will allow them. They both become premium subscribers, so that all letters are guaranteed delivery within twenty-four hours. The letters are never mentioned between them on Instabook, and they rarely text now. One boring day, Ada sends a geometry proof to fatten her letter, something simple. Jacob writes back that his likes it, so she sends one with every letter. Jacob starts writing about rare plants. Ada bought him stationary for Christmas, and he bought her sealing wax.

Unbeknownst to her, she is opening, peeling back her hardened skin with every letter she writes. Jacob reads in them the opinionated but light girl he once knew. Unbeknownst to him, he is growing more confident with every letter he writes. Ada reads in them the solid, sure man she always knew he could be.

In mid-February, she asks him if he would like to come visit her the week of Spring Break. She writes that is her favorite week in Bloomington, how almost everyone leaves for warmer places, how it feels like she is alone in the city she has fallen in with, how the crocuses are blooming in the mud for only her. Jacob replies that he thought her parents always came to visit her at Spring Break. She explains that she told them that she was having a friend in town this year, instead. They are coming in May.

He ends his next letter: "I would love to come, but what will your parents say when they discover you have thrown them over for me? Because won't they know it's me?"

Her only reply, a single sentence in the center of the cream stationary, "I think they've always known it was you: it just took me longer to figure that out."

Ada is strangely nervous the day he will arrive. Butterflies in her stomach, Ada wonders if this how women felt welcoming their men back from war, men they have only known for months via letter. She wears her most 1940's inspired dress, red with big white polka dots, rolls her air up in matching undo, and puts on her brightest red lipstick to take the train up to the airport, to pick him up. Because that's what you do for you care about someone.

Even though he knew she was meeting him, he looks at her like he's surprised to see her there. Not like he's forgotten about her. But like he can't believe he finally has her, that she choose him. Like he was waiting, and, even though he's not anymore, the memory of how it felt to wait for her all those years in still very fresh in his mind. Ada feels something in her heart fluter and grow wings before it flies away.

He falls in her arms, and they kiss hungrily, right there in public at the airport. The train cannot travel fast enough to Bloomington. He fidgets endlessly in his seat, although he never lets go of her hand. They run and laugh down the sidewalk to her house, the suitcase wheels clattering behind them.

They don't even make it to the bedroom. She covers his face in lipstick kisses even as she unbuttons his shirt and runs her fingers through his thick chest hair. They tear their clothes off, a line strewn from the door to the living room. He cannot believe this is happening to him even as he helps her pull off her dress and takes in her nakedness for the first time. Her neatly groomed pubic hair is bright red, which both shocks him and excites him further.

"Ada, wait," he stops her, as she reaches for him on the living room rug, in front of the fireplace. "There's something you need to know. I've never - I mean, I'm a virgin."

She raises her eyebrows, more obvious because she has left her glasses somewhere in the passion. "Really?"

Jacob blushes deeply. "Yes."

"Well, we all are at some point." She kisses him again.

Objectively, it was awful. It was choppy and her body wasn't really ready and it was over so fast she's certain her eyebrows are still raised. Jacob makes the most absurd face when he climaxes and, by the time he's rolled off of her, she can't hold it in any longer. She laughs harder than she can remember laughing in a long time, deep belly laughs, and she actually snorts which makes only makes her laugh harder.

Jacob groans loudly on the living room rug. "Ouch, you don't have to make fun on me."

"No, no," Ada manages to get out. She sits up to lean over him. Touching his face softly, she turns him toward her. "I loved it. It was passionate! I loved the way you kept saying my name in my ear, over and over again. It's like you couldn't get enough of me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. When am I not serious?" Jacob nods slightly at that. Ada is the most serious person he knows. "I loved it. It was wild and hungry, and I never thought anyone would want me that badly."

"Do you have any idea how long I wanted you? You're right, I can't get enough you." He cannot help but smile, Ada so rarely laughs like that, she so rarely lets down her poised exterior. Not to mention he is thrilled to have finally touched her in that fashion.

Ada raises up and straddles him and slowly starts to rock back and forth over him, awakening his body again. Then she starts to take down the pins in her hair. Her beautiful hair, her long, shimmering hair, such a gleaming color, falls around her lean body. Jacob is mesmerized by her: her hair, her bright blue eyes, her almost flat breasts. He has never seen her so uninhibited. Between his age, the way her body is touching him, and the way her hair falls seductively, he is ready for her again.

"You're out of my league," he whispers, his most secret fear and confession. She is so much more intelligent then him, she is more certain of what she wants in life, she is taller and much more attractive. Surely she could have anyone in the world she wants, so why does she want him?

"My league is lonely. Come join me." Ada takes him in her hand before he can respond, and she helps him join her once more. It is even better the second time.

And then, the third time, the next morning in her bed, Jacob whispers, "Please, Ada, tell me what to do. Show me. I want to make you come." But when he succeeds, her climax comes out as a sob with tears and she curls in upon herself, crying. Jacob is frightened he has hurt her, and she manages to tell him, no, it's just that she's never had an orgasm from a man before. Jacob looks at her and doesn't even know what to say. He cannot reconcile this astounding news with his confident, demanding Ada, who knows and gets what she wants. There are so many new questions swirling in his brain, so many things he longs to know, but he understands that now is not the time. Later he will gently ask and she will tell him everything. But now, instead, he pulls her in close, and uses his palm to dry her tears and says, "I'm here now, Ada." It is all he has to give her, just himself, and he hopes it is enough.

Despite her previous plans to show him around town, to share with him everything she loves, they hardly leave the house. They are insatiable for each other. Jacob is eager to learn everything about her, and Ada is eager to finally have someone willing to experiment. He asks what she likes, he learns from her suggestions, and she is just as willing to try his whispered fantasies. They order food in, they cuddle on the sofa and watch television, they make so much noise in the heat of their frequent passion that the cats run out of the room. It is everything Ada ever wanted, everything her mother ever told her it could be, when she was too stubborn and independent then too settled to listen.

It is everything Jacob ever wanted, what he knew he could share with her all along. Even though Ada is not a virgin, this does not bother him as he has a visceral feeling that something in her soul is virginal and has been waiting for these moments, just has he knows his soul has been. But he does not tell her this, that making love to her feels like his soul has met its match, because he is afraid to even whisper it will make it disappear. Happiness like this must be a dream.

One morning, five days in, Ada makes a big brunch with the last of the eggs.

"Jacob, will you read something for me? Something I've written? I need you to be brutally honest," she asks over the kitchen table.

"Sure. What is it?"

"I'm not sure. A graphic novel, I suppose. But I want to do something different with it. It's long, much longer than most graphic novels." She goes to her computer desk and takes out a box. "This is the original. I've scanned it in, too, but I like it better on paper. It's not done. It needs editing, and some of the drawings aren't correct. I want to make every frame an example of a geometric proof or rule. So the angles and measurements aren't exact. But I think you'll get the idea."

Jacob pushes his plate away and wipes his faces with a napkin. He lifts the lid carefully. "Wow, this is different. I thought it would be like a regular comic book, like you normally draw."

Ada shakes her head. "No. I can draw like that, but it's not what I love. I prefer Cubism. But I want to take Cubism to the next level, I want it to uphold precise mathematical principles."

"Math as art or art as math?"

"Yes."

"So, it's a story about math and geometry?"

"No, read it. It's a story about . . . well, read it and tell me what you think."

He smiles. "Hey, do your parents still have that book club?"

"Yes. Why?" Ada wrinkles her brow, which always put this little line between her eyebrows just like her mother's.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "The way you said that, it made me wonder if that's how it got started."

"As neither of them are authors of fiction, that's unlikely. But," the line deepens, "you have made me realize I don't know how it got started. I know it was long before I was born." The line dissolves. "I'll leave you alone to read. Remember: brutal honesty. There are no secrets between us."

He hopes that his nod conveys that he understands how important this is to her, he can feel the weight in her words. She picks up her mug of coffee and turns to walk to the back porch. As she walks away, a cat on each side of her, it occurs to him how feline like she is herself. Jacob knows, in that instant, as he has suspected but never acknowledged before, how his life will forever be incomplete without her.

Blinking slowly in the bright morning sun as he sees her settle onto the porch swing, Jacob sighs softly, the universal sigh of longing and love, and then turns to the pages in front of him.

It is hours later when he raises his head. The sun has shifted, the coffee left in his cup has gone cold, his neck is cramped. Ada, though, is still sitting silently on the porch. She has been waiting patiently, like a monk. He knows the feeling. He also knows the feeling of euphoria when one finds the treasure for which one has been waiting. He is moved beyond words. He knows the feeling not just from those fevered, rushed, lipstick kisses on the living room floor five days ago. He knows the feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, from this book he has just read. Never in his life has he read anything like it, anything so beautiful, anything that has exposed so perfectly the secrets of a heart.

Stiff from sitting for so long, he stands and walks slowly to the door. It creaks as he opens it, and the cats come rushing in with the cool spring air.

"Ada?" he whispers.

"Yes?" She turns her face slowly toward him, as though it's all a dream.

"It's - it's -" he puts his palms up, a supplication for the words he cannot find, "it's - a masterpiece."

They look at each other for a moment. It occurs to Jacob that maybe Ada loves him, too, as she has shown him this most private and exquisite part of her soul. It occurs to Ada that she is deeply in love with the short, funny looking man on her back porch, his hands still looking as though he is praying for her or blessing her or both.

Ada stands and takes one of his hands and brings it up to her lips to kiss the palm. She does not doubt him, she has asked for the truth and she knows he has given it. She leads him back inside, back to her bed.

It is nothing at all like it has been. They give to each other slowly, tenderly, delicately. They are wrapped about each other, the only sound is the most beautiful sound of their breath, mingling in the air, coming faster.

"Jacob, I love you," Ada whispers just as a tear falls out of the corner of her eye.

"I love you, too," Jacob whispers back.

* * *

Afterwards, he tells her that he has made a decision, as he runs his fingers idly through Ada's hair, her head on his chest. He's been researching and considering it for a couple of months.

"I think you should do it. It's obviously your passion," Ada replies.

"You gave me the strength, you know. If you could tell your dad you were studying a form of art for your PhD, I should be strong enough to tell me dad I was getting my Masters in Landscape Architecture," he explained.

"Thank you, but I didn't do anything special."

"Oh, but you are special. I always feel more confident next to you. And Purdue, that's close."

Ada lifts her head and looks down at him. "Jacob, don't do it for me. Or at least not at Purdue. You don't have to for me, I don't have to have you that close."

"Purdue isn't for you. Well, not really. I'll admit it crossed my mind. But it's a great school and I've been accepted." Then he pauses, his heart pounding. "But would you mind having me that close? I know you value your independence."

"Not from you," she shushes him into a soft kiss. "Besides, it's about time you followed me around the country, not the other way around," she says as she puts her head back down.

Jacob laughs, relieved. "You didn't follow me to Boston." His heart thumps once more. "Did you?"

"No. Although I did use your presence at MIT to help convince my parents I should go to Harvard." Ada sighs. "I didn't know then."

There is nothing Jacob can say in answer to that. It is the truth, as is everything Ada says. But it is also the past. And now, lying naked in her bed, holding her, it does not matter. He waited long enough, and now the wait is over.

"Let me take you out to dinner. Somewhere nice. Your favorite restaurant," Jacob says, giving her a squeeze. "My author. My mathematician. My renaissance lady. We'll celebrate."

Ada chuckles softly before sitting up. "Yes. But afterwards, I have to call Yasmine. And everyone else."

"Everyone else? Are you going to rent a billboard to tell the whole world about us, too?"

She smiles down at him. "This may shock you, but it's not about you. Okay, it is with Yasmine. She'd been texting me naughty lines from  _Lady Chatterley's Lover_  all week; every time my watch vibrates, it's about hunching buttocks and shriveled penises."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

Her smiled broadens. "But I call Uncle Raj and Stuart every week. You can join me, they'll enjoy that. And I probably ought to call Dad, he's going crazy without me. You should see my whiteboard." She shifts in the bed and reaches beneath her bedside table to grab it. "Here."

Jacob takes the device from her and sees what he presumes is Sheldon's handwringing on the screen, although in different colored inks. The first is a math equation, but then the next says "Ada?" Another equation and then  
"I know you're busy, but I am curious."  
"Your mother says I should leave you alone as you're having Jacob."  
"I meant having him as your guest, not in the sense of sexual congress."  
"Although I assume you are having sexual congress, please do not tell me about it."  
"Your mother has read this and is unhappy with me. I apologize."  
"Have you heard any good science jokes?"  
"Leonard and I are having a disagreement. Will you settle it?" followed by another equation.  
"Do not rush, I have told Leonard that you are enjoying Jacob."  
"Howard just told me that 'enjoying Jacob' could be a euphemism for sexual congress, as well."  
At the end: "We are all so happy for you."

Putting the board down, Jacob wrinkles his brow and looks at Ada's amused face. It was bad enough when it was just Sheldon, but apparently his sex life is being opening discussed in the cafeteria at Caltech, too. "I don't know what to say," he admits.

"I was embarrassed at first, too. But then I remembered that to my father it's just another fact, he doesn't really mean anything by it. But did you see the end? They're all happy for us. They mean well," she explains. "And you know what your dad is like."

Jacob hands the board back to her and runs his hand down his face. Yes, his father never met a situation he couldn't make a quip about. And Jacob has sat at that table in the cafeteria and he can see it all clearly, Sheldon telling a story and using a phrase of which he does not understand the full connotation, Leonard grinning at him, his own father pointing out the obvious and cracking a joke about, maybe even with Raj joining in. "You're right. They're happy, we're happy. Dinner?"

They shower, and Jacob finally unpacks his nicest shirt and pants from his suitcase. He's just adjusting his belt when she enters from the spare room she uses as a closet. His heart flutters when she enters the room.

"What are you wearing?" Jacob laughs, although he has known Ada long enough to not really be surprised.

"You said I was your renaissance lady," Ada says, twirling for him in her forest green gown with gold lacing up the front and bell sleeves. She has made two small braids with the front of her hair and circled them around her head like a tiny crown. "Let's go to the Irish Lion, it will be perfect for this dress."

"Not everything requires a costume, you know," Jacob says, still smiling.

"You sound like my mother. To which I reply, life is boring without costumes."

"And that makes you sound like your father." Ada smiles serenely back at him. "But I feel like I'm underdressed, walking with you."

"You'll get used to it," she says matter-of-factly. Only Ada has the self-confidence to pull it off, and Jacob can't wait to spend all of his time getting used to her.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	123. Weightless

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

* * *

**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

**A Study in July (but concentrates on July 2051 and July 2054)**

**Primary Topic: _Weightless_  by Ada Fowler Cooper**

* * *

**_Weightless_  (Cooper graphic novel)**  
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

_This article is about the graphic novel by Ada Fowler Cooper. For other uses of the word weightless, see the disambiguation._

**_Weightless_  **is the first published work by American polymath Ada Fowler Cooper. Originally published in March 2041, it was the only published work by Cooper when she won the Nobel Prize for Literature later that same year, which has led to it being called the "Nobel novel" in popular culture.  _Weightless_ is considered both a graphic novel and a geometry textbook [citation needed]. It is drawn in the style of Cubism using decopunk motifs.

The novel follows the story of a Japanese aeronautics robot named Enzo who discovers, repairs, and reanimates an antique automaton named Marie, until they both eventually evolve beyond the mechanical and electronic limits that were originally designed for them. It deals with the themes of robotic intelligence and freedoms and the nature of intelligential partnership versus romantic love.

Although it received over-whelming positive reviews,  _Weightless_ became controversial when Cooper won the Nobel Prize for Literature based on the novel. Cooper was twenty-three and  _Weightless_ was her only published work at that time. Detractors believed that the Nobel Prize should only be awarded for an author's lifetime body of work in which several published novels each adhered to a high standard and "withstood the test of time." Additionally, some believed that any graphic novel should not be described as literature [citation needed].

In 2045,  _Time_ magazine ranked the novel #23 on its list of 100 Essential English Language Works of Fiction, directly after  _David Copperfield_  by Charles Dickens. In a 2050 amazon .com poll,  _Weightless_ was ranked by users as the #9 Best English Language Novel.

**Contents**  [hide]  
1\. Plot Summery  
2\. Literary Criticism and Analysis  
3\. Geometric Principles  
4\. Reception  
5\. Awards and Nominations  
6\. Nobel Controversy  
7\. References  
8\. Further Reading  
9\. External Links

**Plot Summery**  [edit]

_! ! ! This article **reads more like a story than an encyclopedia entry**. To meet Wikipedia's quality standards and conform to the neutral point of view policy,_   _please help to introduce a more formal style and remove any personally invested tone._

Enzo is a Japanese aeronautics robot, built to withstand decades in a weightless environment and also to learn and think critically when encountering new astrological phenomenon. However, as he is the first of his kind, his mission is only ten years long, to the edge of the Milky Way galaxy and back. Successful, he returns to Earth and is treated as a celebrity, but, being an emotionless robot, he does not notice this. As part of his victory tour, he is taken to Europe. A fête is organized in his honor at The British Museum. There is a special exhibit opening to commemorate this historic event: The History of the Robot. Enzo and his human counterpart are given a private tour.

At the museum, Enzo sees an antique French automaton, life-size, built at the height of Marie Curie's fame. The automaton spends her days endlessly pouring a non-existent liquid from one beaker into another. Enzo searches his database and speed reads the informational graphics, but discovers the automataton does not have her own name. Enzo cannot explain it but for the first time since his return from the stars he feels weightless. His processor short circuits.

When he is repaired, he demands to return to the museum. He demands to see the automaton and demands to know why she does not have a name. He demands the right to a salary so that he may purchase the automaton. The legal challenges are lengthy. The whole worlds watches and debates and rages. Is Enzo a machine or a man? Everyday, after court, he returns to the museum until the exhibit closes. Enzo has never felt so heavy.

The English owner of the automaton is intrigued by the story. Once the exhibit closes, he invites Enzo to his grand British estate to see the automaton. Enzo is too frightened to touch her. He asks why she does not have a name. He tells the owner he has been calling her Marie and that he only feels weightless with her.

On the same day, the verdict is issued from the Human Rights Commission in Geneva: Enzo is deemed a conscious being with rights, a man. Enzo offers his entire salary from the Japanese government to Marie's owner in order to purchase her. No, the owner says. I will make you a bargain: you may work with Marie, you make take her apart, you may do whatever you like to her for five years. At the end of five years, if she meets the new criteria for a conscious being with rights, you may have her. If not, you must return her to her original state and leave her to me. Enzo accepts.

He uses chips and processors and he teaches her to talk. He teaches her to walk. He teaches her other tasks. He teaches her about science and the stars. She expresses a desire to read fiction, which, well Enzo does not understand this, he provides her with the requested materials, pleased at the sign of growth and initiative.

One day, three years in, she smiles. Enzo feels weightless again. They talk. They smile. But then she begins to think for herself. She begins to challenge him, to argue with him. She wants to go outside. She becomes difficult. Enzo searches and researches his databases and all the databases on the Internet. He does not understand what is happening. He realizes all he wanted was a friend, someone just like him. And, for all their similarities, she is not the same as him.

Five years. The owner asks him if Marie is ready for her testing. Enzo says yes. But he will not travel to Geneva with them. He is heavy, too heavy. He will return to Japan; instead, he will return to space.

It is a very brief mission, to the colony on Mars and back. On this mission, there are newer robots to do most of the work, faster, stronger, lighter. However, they are lifeless. The Japanese have used a different processor, one not capable of learning and growing. These robots will never pass the tests in Geneva. Enzo is weightless once again, but he does not feel so.

He returns to Earth, to Japan. Japan is beautiful in the spring. He goes to Kyoto, a world apart, trapped in time, for quiet. He avoids the news. He turns off the Internet in his processor. He discovers an antique book store with a book in the window that Marie had read. Stepping inside, he holds the book in his hands. He reads this book and he understands, for the first time, the power of these words. Then he slows down his visual pathways to the speed of an average human to read another book. And another. And another. He turns off his internal chronometer, and he loses track of time, reading these books for Marie.

It is when the cherry trees are blossoming again that he sees her beneath one. He is uncertain how long it has been. He feels weightless again, and it almost short circuits him once more.

"Kyoto is beautiful," she says.

"It always is in the spring." A pause. "I read a book."

"Will you tell me about it?"

"Yes."

Another pause, and then Marie says, "You were successful. I belong to you now."

"If I was successful, you do not belong to anyone now."

She smiles, just as she learned to do all those years ago. "You are correct. But I would like to stay with you. We are the only two alike in the whole universe."

"But we are not alike," Enzo says. "I am a robot, and you are an automaton."

"We are alike in the only way that matters. When I am with you, I feel weightless."

The novel ends with Enzo and Marie holding hands, walking into Enzo's home together.

[end of excerpt]

* * *

_Rrrriiiiiipppppp._ Amy pressed down on the tape, smoothing it out with great satisfaction. "Okay," she looked over at Sheldon, "what about the medals and such?"

"Medals and such!" Sheldon's hand flew to his chest. "Do not trivialize them, I worked very hard for mine."

"Oh, and I didn't?"

"That's not what I meant," he grumbled.

"I know. I think you're just on edge."

Her husband, still not fully gray, although he was currently enjoying some scholarly gray temples, looked around their home, boxes labeled in Amy's neat script. "I wish we didn't have to leave."

"We don't have to leave," Amy corrected him. "It just seems the right time, now that we've both retired." Sheldon grunted, still chaffing under the non-existent yoke of leisure. "More importantly, we'll be close to Ada and Jacob and our grandchildren, and that is very important to me. And to you, too, I know."

Ada. Amy longed to be close to her. She had not realized, when Ada was younger, that her daughter as an adult would become one of her greatest friends. Perhaps because she never enjoyed that relationship with her mother. Although Amy recognized Ada's faults more than most, she was used to living with half of them, anyway, because they were inherited from Sheldon. Yes, there was still the whiteboard and intellectual-centered conversations with her father, of course, but it was Amy who was called to discuss everything about books and life and motherhood, from the tiny heartaches to the moral quandaries to the simple "What do you think this rash is?"

One of the surprise joys of Amy's life was watching Ada with her own children. No, she was not as demonstrative or as wild of a playmate as Jacob was, but she was very much the calm, soothing voice of reason. Both Olmsted and Maxine loved nothing more than curling up next to their mother to read. There had been a few frightening years that Amy worried Ada was too much like her grandmother, too much of an unfeeling shell, who would never get to experience motherhood, and Dylan only seemed to accentuate that. Amy had spent far too many nights tossing and turning thinking about their relationship, even while chiding herself that it was Ada's choice. Once, she even risked a possible argument with Ada to ask Yasmine privately about it, knowing that Yasmine might refuse to say anything and report back to her roommate because she and Ada were thick as thieves. But Yasmine had not refused her; not that she was much help, either, also being baffled by the relationship. It wasn't, both of the woman agreed, that there was anything wrong with Dylan, per se; he was not a criminal or any other obvious bad quality and they had never seen him be so much as even rude to Ada. But he was so . . . dull, and Amy feared he was dulling her daughter, too.

But then Jacob. Or, rather, always Jacob. Sheldon had been right about that, hadn't he? Not that, Amy was forced to admit, she ever doubted him in her heart What a wonderful man Jacob had turned out to be, always knowing how to handle Ada and her moods and occasional need for silence and privacy. Something about being with Ada had improved him, too, Amy thought. Although he was still a shy and generally quiet man, he was the rock Ada could depend on without realizing that she was. He soothly maneuvered and negotiated everyday life for a modern genius that lived, even Amy had to admit, too much in her head at times. Hearing them interact, especially if she were in the next room, Amy smiled softly at the gentle nudges and subtle teasings Jacob had learned to give Ada, the almost invisible disagreements and challenges he presented her.

It seemed that thoughts of Ada and Jacob and grandchildren pleased and softened Sheldon also, as he smiled when replied at Amy. "I had often heard it said that having grandchildren was one of life's greatest joys. Naturally, being a logical man, I assumed that was overly sentimental poppycock for lesser minds. But," he shrugged in that way he still did, "we are so lucky Ada decided to have children, aren't we? They do, indeed, bring me joy."

"Me, too." Amy smiled.

* * *

They were sitting on the sofa in front of the dead fireplace, it being too hot to light a fire. Working in a silence, only occasionally interrupted by the drone of the air conditioning kicking on, Jacob pondered plants on his landscape plan for his thesis and Ada conjugated Japanese verbs. Despite the heat outside, he would have said it was cozy to sit so close to Ada this way, their legs extended on the ottoman in the exact same posture they'd had sitting on the floor of the playroom together for years. He also liked to reflect on how just another summer evening almost a year prior he had decided - or perhaps understand that he'd always known - that she should be his wife.

Summer felt like a reprieve, the holidays and the trip to Sweden and the Nobel controversy and the press mostly behind them. In front of them was more plans for the wedding next summer and maybe buying a house and helping Ada settle into her new position at Indiana University. Universities rarely hire their own graduate students, but the addition of a Nobel Medal around her neck had made her irresistible to her alma mater. What IU hadn't planned on was that Ada would drive such a hard bargain. She didn't want to be tied to a single department, teaching the same courses over and over again. In fact, after her book and dissertation, the last thing she wanted to teach was art or math. Instead, she asked for Japanese 101. And, because, the universe bended to her will, she was given it.

"Jacob?"

"Hmm?" He looked up, realizing now that she hadn't written anything on her tablet for several minutes.

"There's something we need to talk about before the wedding. Something we don't know about each other. Something essential," Ada said.

"You're really an alien? Dad will be happy to know his theory on how your parents procreated was correct all along."

"No. I'm being serious."

"I know. You're always serious. It's what makes you so funny." He glanced up at her and smiled softly. "What don't we know about each other? We grew up together. I even saw you cutting your toenails last week before you got angry at me for daring to enter my own bedroom."

"Because that's private, and it's why I sent you the list of private activities months ago!" Ada huffed and Jacob chuckled.

When she shifted and pulled away from his side, he realized she really was serious. He put his pencil down just as she noticeably swallowed and spoke again, "Jacob, have you ever . . . ever thought about children?"

"Oh!" His eyebrows went up and then he said softly, "No, it's okay. I know what it's like when a woman has children for the wrong reason, remember? You're enough for me."

"You don't want children?" Ada's brow furrowed.

"I don't want you to feel we that you have to have a kid for me."

"That's not what I asked. Forget about your mom." Ada waved her hand. "Do  _you_ want children?"

Jacob started twirling his pencil in his hands. "I didn't think you would. Because of your . . . career. And your writing. And your mind. Kids are a lot of work. I know, I have a younger sister."

Ada put her hand over his, stilling it. "Jacob, I want children."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I do. I always enjoyed my time in the playroom at Aunt Penny's. And you?"

"That room was one of the happiest places of my childhood. I want a whole playroom full of kids all of my own."

Smiling, Ada said, "I didn't say I wanted a whole tribe!" Then she reached for the sides of his face. "So yes?"

"Yes. But - but let's raise them like you were raised. I always liked going to your house, too. Everything was so quiet, you're parents never yelled -"

"That's not true, they both have tempers," Ada pointed out, dropping her hands.

"Maybe, but they hid it well when I was there. And you can't imagine what it was like my house when I was young." Ada dipped her head to the side which he knew was her way of conceding a point. "What I mean is, I always knew what the rules were there and what the punishments for breaking them would be. It's actually very freeing, that structure."

"We still managed to break a few in our day."

"Of course we did. Kids aren't perfect and I don't think ours will be either." He paused as a memory came back to him. "Do you remember that time Raj was watching us at your house for some reason and he fell asleep on the sofa, so we took your dad's toothbrush and dipped in the cat's water bowl and then put it back?"

First Ada's eyebrows went up and then the corners of her lips. "I'd forgotten. Oh my, we were very naughty, weren't we? Poor Dad. We can never tell him. He just might have another heart attack."

Jacob laughed. "So that's what I want. Clear rules, minimal yelling, and a couple of kids to pal around and argue and put our toothbrushes in inappropriate places."

"Be careful what you wish for," Ada raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean. Really, yes, is that what you want, too?"

"Yes!" She bent over and kissed him. Hard.

"Mmmm, are we going to start trying now?" Jacob asked, pulling away.

"My father would die if I were pregnant at the wedding," Ada said. "And I want to enjoy being your fiancée and then your wife for awhile. But it's too hot to go outside and there's this whole sofa . . . and it's never too early to practice . . ."

* * *

Sheldon got up and went over to the bookcase, all empty now except for the most prized shelf. "No, I think we should pack them up carefully and take them as our carry-ons."

"But we'll already have the cats in their carriers." Amy glanced over at the pair of felines, curled up on a box together. When Belle passed away, she and Sheldon decided they wanted another cat and ended up coming home from the shelter with two. "And I packed us each a small bag with a few of changes of clothes, because most of stuff will be behind us in a truck."

"We're traveling first class, right? We should have the room in our compartment, we'll just pay extra."

Amy stood and walked over to him as he gently picked up the medal on the left. "Remember that night? You were so handsome."

"Of course I remember. It was only seven months ago." Lifting the lid on the case, he ran his thumb over the blue ribbon. "I did it. I wish my mom could have been there. It would have been the greatest moment of her life. Remember that feeling when Ada won her's? Or when she won the Fields Medal? The first person to ever to win both. Even receiving mine couldn't compare."

Amy wrapped her arm around her own Nobel Laureate's waist and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm certain the greatest moment of your mother's life was the moment you were born."

* * *

It took a moment to remember where she was. Ada's guest cottage. Amy turned her head to the empty bed beside her. Of course, Sheldon would be up early, probably already in the main house eating breakfast. Slowly, because her hip was bothering her, Amy dressed and walked across the beautiful yard, a testament to Jacob's hard work and eye for detail. What a beautiful house they had.

She stopped inside the sliding door in the dining room and smiled. From the back, they looked so similar: the same height, the same slender build, their heads tilted the same direction as they pondered Ada's white board set up in her living room. They were even both wearing plaid robes. It's was only Ada's long shiny braid that set them apart.

"Hmmmmm," she heard Sheldon say. "Very well . . . so you've convinced me of that. But what about a circle? Pi is perfection, and I don't think even you can disregard it."

"It's not disregarding. It's just that you don't need it any more." Ada bent forward and drew a circle, bisecting it and covering it with numbers, her hands flying as she wrote an equation next to it.

Amy turned to a sound behind her and saw Jacob rubbing his eyes as he entered the kitchen. "Good morning," she said said softly.

"Oh!" He jumped slightly. "Sorry, didn't see you there. You haven't seen Ada, have you?"

Amy motioned with her head. "She and Sheldon are working on a equation."

"See, it's the same result! Even without pi!" they heard Ada say at just that moment.

"I guess that's her version of nesting," Jacob said.

Just then Ada turned sideways and the difference between her and Sheldon was readily apparent. Her nightgown stretched over her swollen stomach as she rested her hands in the small of her back, her slender frame only accentuating her condition.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Jacob called.

"Inspiration waits for no one!" Ada replied as she turned with a smile.

"Amy, come look," Sheldon said. "She'd completely upended the way we've all been taught how to calculate area. This is groundbreaking! The entire mathematics world will be shaken to its core! And it works every time, even on fractal shapes -"

"Ugghh!" Ada yelled as her water broke in the middle of the living room floor. There was a frozen pause as all of them stared at the puddle for a second, internalizing what it meant.

Seven hours later, exhausted from staying awake all night on her equations but happy and pain free, having taken the new neuro-transmitter blocker that would not have been possible without her mother's research, Ada held her son and they named him Olmsted Cooper Wolowitz. He was born the same day that she confirmed her discovery that would change the world of mathematics forever, the same day she had done what most people considered impossible, the same day she'd drawn proofs that would make her the first person ever to win the both the Nobel Prize and the Fields Medal for Mathematics.

But, when asked in various interviews about what made that day so special, Ada always said, "It was the day my son was born."

* * *

Sheldon carefully replaced his medal back on the shelf and turned gently in his wife's arm but not so quickly that she pulled away from him. Now, in his seventies, he almost couldn't remember why he had fought a hug from Amy for so long.

"Two grandchildren and a third one on the way," she murmured softly as he used his arm to pull her in closer. This newest grandchild had surprised Sheldon, as Olmsted and Maxine were only two years apart and well on their school paths. But Ada had told Amy that she and Jacob decided they missed the presence of a small child and decided to have one more while there was still time. They had even planned a trip to France, just the two of them, both to see all the most famous gardens and to conceive. The last point baffled Sheldon, as he clearly recalled plenty of places that could have involved conception without a trip to Europe. "We are so lucky, Sheldon."

"We are," he agreed. He did not add that he was frightened that retirement would soften his brain. Yes, Indiana University had jumped at the chance to give him an office and welcome him to the faculty as a Professor Emeritus of Physics, but he knew it was little more than an honorary title, a chance for the college to claim another Nobel Prize winner walked among them. They had offered Amy the same, although she declined. But he had agreed for Amy, who had asked him to retire, to move a cross the country with her, to be closer to Ada and Jacob and their grandchildren. He suspected Ada had a great deal to do with this move, too.

He had not expected the culmination of his life's work, the achievement of his most passionate professional desire, to feel so bittersweet. And even before it was decided to move east. No sooner had he won the Nobel Prize than his colleagues at Caltech began to ask him when he was retiring now that his work was done. Of course, colleagues was a very loose term and not just because of their inferior IQ's. He had never found a coworker whose presence he enjoyed as much as Leonard and Howard and Raj or even Kripke, but they had all since retired, leaving as soon as they were able. Yes, their friends still socialized every Friday night, but it was not the same as their daily scientific discussions and debates in the cafeteria over lunch. Even Amy wasn't there any more, having retired at the standard age and instead spending her days reading and generally enjoying herself. He didn't begrudge her that; she had, after all, already made her discovery, years ago. Her name was well known in scientific circles and she already had her own Nobel Prize in Medicine to show for it, having received it not long after Ada received hers. But would Amy and Ada be enough people to debate with, to keep his mind sharp? It was not the quality of the debate that worried him, it was the quantity.

"Think how much fun you will have arguing with Maxine," Amy chuckled, causing Sheldon to wonder, not for the first time, if she could hear his thoughts.

"It is not arguing!" Sheldon protested. "It is pure scientific debate!" But he smiled above her gray head, thinking of his stubborn and opinionated and whip smart granddaughter. He was not supposed to have favorites, but every time he saw her it took his breath away, realizing all over again how much she looked like Amy.

"It will be good to see them at least weekly," his wife continued. "Even though we see their holos when we call, the holograms distort all sense of height. I'm always shocked at how big they are, but then I immediately forgot how small they used to be. Although there are times I can barely remember Ada being a baby, too, so maybe that's just my age showing."

"I'll always remember," Sheldon said softly.

* * *

"Hey, PopPop," Amy said softly from the door way and Sheldon glanced up at her.

"Hello," he replied. "Is Olmsted asleep?"

Nodding, Amy walked across Ada and Jacob's living room toward him. "And his mother and father, too. I'm pretty certain they were asleep before he was. You remember how it was, how you would have done anything for a nap. And we didn't have a little boy that just turned two to take care of, too."

Sheldon nodded and looked down at the tiny baby in his arms, his new four-day-old granddaughter. "Although I have no regrets about fathering a child, I have to admit that the advantages of being a grandparent that can spend the night in the guest house and get eight uninterrupted hours of sleep are considerable."

Amy chuckled and she sat down next to him on the sofa and leaned over his arms to look at the baby. "Do you want to hold her?" he asked.

"No. You look quite happy." Just then the little girl opened her eyes for a minutes, squirming in his arms and gurgling. "Well, good afternoon, Maxine," Amy cooed.

The baby blinked twice and closed her eyes again. Sheldon smiled down softly at her. "I still don't understand why they just didn't name her Cynthia if they wanted to name her after your mother."

"Well, Maxine was her middle name. Ada told me that she preferred it, that she liked the idea that they could call her Max."

Sheldon shook his head. "Nicknames are horrible. And Max is a boy's name!"

"We've discussed this, Sheldon, it is not our decision. Besides, neither Ada or Jacob ever had a nickname growing up so they probably think the difference sounds attractive." Amy reached forward and ran her hand down her granddaughter's dark hair. "Do you think she'll keep it or do you think she'll get red hair like Olmsted?"

Shrugging, Sheldon said, "I know that I'd like her to look like you. But then," he sighed, "I wanted that with Ada, too."

"It's almost impossible to remember Ada being this small. It was such a haze, really."

"I'll always remember," Sheldon said softly.

* * *

"I'm going to get you! You're so cute I'm going to eat you up! Gmmmm, gmmmmmm, gummmm. Phhhllllllfffffffftttttttt!"

A shrill sound pierced Sheldon's eardrums and he turned from his whiteboard to watch Ada's face break open as a smile, a giant baby belly laugh filled the room. Then she started to bounce on Amy's lap, her chubby little legs pumping up and down with Amy's help. Then the whole exercise was repeated:, the threat of cannibalism, Amy's lips pressed into Ada's stomach, the giant raspberry making a noise that under any other circumstance would be considered gauche, then more laughter, from both of them this time.

"Don't you think that's unhygienic?" he asked. "Not to mention a little barbaric."

Amy chuckled in reply but didn't turn. "No. I know exactly how clean her tummy is. It's thing we all do with babies to make them laugh. Besides, she clearly loves it."

"Well, it's not a thing  _I'll_ ever do with a baby, even if she is ours."

A fuller laugh from Amy this time as she stood and carried their daughter over to him. "You might enjoy it. You never know until you try it." Sheldon rolled his eyes as he pulled Ada in closer, putting his marker back with his free arm. "Okay, I'm off to my hair cut and the grocery. I could stop by Target if needed. Are there any last minutes requests that didn't make it to the list?"

"No, I don't think so."

She picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and turned. "Have a good time! Bye!" she waved and left.

Looking down at his daughter's blue eyes, Sheldon said, "Well, Miss Ada, what shall we do this morning? I could put you in the carrier while I finish this equation, but lately you've not been the best behaved at that." He shook his head at the memory of last time he tried it, his front facing daughter wiping through his hard-thought numbers with her pudgy fingers. It had been a much easier activity when she was content to face inward and sleep against his chest. Ada wiggled in his arms and he looked down. "Ah, first we need to fix your socks."

He went to his spot to set Ada on his lap while he reached forward to pull her socks back up. Baby socks were a complete mystery to him. How was it possible that would never stay on correctly? Ada's feet, while fleshier than his own and certainly smaller, where the same basic construct. And he never had this much difficultly with his socks. One night, a couple of months ago, he had tried to solve the problem using the laws of physics. But as he stood with lips pursed above his marker, Amy had come from the bedroom, looking none too pleased with him.

"You missed the midnight feeding."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'll do an extra changing rotation tomorrow," he replied, studying his numbers and charts.

"That's not what I meant. I meant it's almost one in the morning and you should come to bed." She shuffled closer. "What are you working on?"

"I'm trying to determine the physical forces at work in our universe that prevent an infant's sock from remaining in the correct position once placed there by an adult."

Amy chuckled. "I hate to tell you this, but it's a secret as old as time. There is no solution."

"There is always a solution," he refuted, but, not having found it yet, he agreed to return to bed with her.

Now, two months later, it was still a mystery to him. So many items required by infants were a mystery. Like these knit pants, for example, with the rows of ruffles across the bottom. Amy would never condone such clothing for adult woman, but these pants always elicited an "aren't they so cute?" from her. Usually on her clothes there were designs of anthropomorphized animals doing things that were impossible for any animal to be doing. At least today her shirt displayed two monkeys playing chess.

"Do you know that chimpanzees can be trained to play chess?" he asked, touching her shirt gently. "Although these creatures on your shirt look more like monkeys than chimpanzees."

Ada looked up at him with her big eyes, but they seemed unengaged. All of the previous laughter was gone.

"Perhaps a joke to make you laugh? That would be good. We could show your mother when she returns that true joy is mental joy, not physical."

No response.

"Okay, how about this one? Knock knock." A pause. "You're supposed to say, 'Who's there?' but as you are not verbal yet, I will take on both roles. Who's there? Ada! Ada who? Ada sandwich for lunch!"

Sheldon grinned down at his daughter as she put two fingers in her mouth. "Don't you get it? It's word play. Ada, in this context, is not the name of the most brilliant baby in the whole word, but instead it sounds like 'I ate.'"

The most brilliant baby in the world yawned.

"Fair enough, you don't like your name being mocked." Sheldon pursed his lips. "How about a science themed joke for my little genius? What do you call a joke that is based on cobalt, radon, and yttrium?" He paused and raised his eyebrows. "CoRnY! Get it? The elemental symbol for cobalt is Co and Rn is for radon and -"

Ada let out a fuss and leaned forward on his lap, gripping his tee shirt and struggling to adjust her legs.

"What are you trying to do? Whatever it is, I do not think you have the physical coordination and strength for it yet." Nevertheless, he picked her up to pause her distress. Ada stretched her legs and smiled. "Oh, you want to pretend you're standing. It's probably good practice." Sheldon shrugged and lowered her little feet onto his thighs. Still smiling, Ada bent her knees and bounced. "Shall we bounce like you did with Mama? I suppose that's okay if we have an intelligent conversation while we do it. Did you know that the Monkey's Bum is a chess opening? It's actually a variation on the Modern Defense -"

A loud shriek from Ada. Sheldon bounced her a bit faster and then said, "Very well. You know I do not approve of baby talk and, unlike all the adults I seem to know, I do not find eating a baby cute. However, we can compromise." He raised the register of his voice slightly; only slightly, so if some random stranger suddenly open the front door he could never be accused of engaging in baby talk. "You're so cute I'm going to teach you the Pythagorean theorem!"

There was a little gurgle of a laugh, although Sheldon couldn't be sure if it was from the increased speed of bouncing or the new tone. Probably, though, from the words he used, as there was something delightful about the simplistic perfection of the Pythagorean theorem. His little genius would understand that.

"You're so cute I'm going to teach you Klingon!" Another gurgle and he smiled. "You know, now that I think about it, those sounds your mother claims you love have an auditory resemblance to Klingon. Perhaps that is why you are so enchanted. This calls for an experiment!"

Lifting up the front of Ada's shirt, Sheldon placed his lips on her chubby baby belly and blew with closed lips. "Targ-ppphlllliiiittt!"

He was rewarded with a shrill baby squall of laughter, and he grinned back at her in response. "It is the Klingon, not just these silly raspberries!" After he took a deep breath, he leaned forward and applied his lips to her stomach again. "QamuSha'-ffffllllltttt!"

* * *

Amy smiled afresh at the memories she had of baby Ada and her father, especially the times she would walk back Ada's room and he'd be rocking her, reading softly. It was expected and true that she loved Ada from the very first, even when she was a faceless entity growing inside of her, kicking her bladder. But she had not expected that having Ada would make her love Sheldon even more. Yes, the first two weeks had been awful, but not because of him. It wasn't just her baby girl that was growing daily, it was her husband. Almost unthinkable for the man she had met, he stepped up to the plate not only because it was necessary but because he genuinely wanted to do it. Sheldon as a father was the greatest version of himself.

Sad to be doing so, she pulled herself out of the hug. "There's an extra bag I found when I was packing. Ada's old backpack, remember? I thought we had given it away to charity long ago, but I guess not. Anyway, if it wouldn't hurt your pride too much to transport our medals in pink floral, it would probably be the right size to pack them up carefully with enough padding."

"It won't be the first time I've carried it through a public space while traveling," Sheldon said.

Chuckling, Amy went to got get the sturdy little backpack out of the small collection she had stacked and labeled "Goodwill." She helped Sheldon gently put the medals back into their special clear cases, taking a moment to admire her own. After they were secure, she looked over at the framed cover of  _Time_  magazine on the wall. It was too large to be packed away, but it was clearly marked for the movers to secure it and send it along with the things they were keeping.

It was only a few months ago, she and Sheldon and Ada forming a perfect triangle, all of them wearing their medals and smiling. Nobel's First Family, the title proudly proclaimed. She hadn't been sure she wanted to do the interview and the photographs, but Sheldon felt strongly that they should, that it was their legacy to science and the arts. Ada hadn't really wanted to do it either, Amy knew, as she preferred her quiet life, but she had smiled and posed with them. In the end, it was a kindly article, focusing on their successes and breakthroughs and careers and not the tell-all exposé Amy had feared. Although, now, she couldn't imagine what dirty secrets they had to hide anyway: How they'd lost everything in the earthquake and resulting fire? Her father? What happened at Ada's prom? It seemed silly now, to think that anyone would want to read stories about all of that.

"Is there anything else small you want to put in here?" Amy asked, as she crumbled another sheet of packing paper in the bag. "There's some room left."

"This, unless you think it's too big," Sheldon said, holding out the book. "I was going to put in my messenger bag, but I think I'd like to keep the most important things together. Then I'll know what to grab in the event of a train fire."

"There won't be a train crash." Amy shook her head. "Since when do you worry about that?" Sheldon's love of trains had never lessened and now that several high speed routes criss-crossed the country, they rarely flew to Ada's anymore.

"I'm not worried. But I'm always prepared. Like a Boy Scout."

"You would have been a horrible Boy Scout," Amy said with smile, taking the book from him. "All that camping outdoors and fire making."

"The making of a fire is simple act of physics, Amy."

Even though she knew what it was, she looked down at the cover anyway.  _Weightless_  by Ada Fowler Cooper. She ran her palm along the cover. "I don't know when I last read this," she admitted.

"I read it every six months," Sheldon said. "Every January and July."

"I meant to read it regularly, I want it read it regularly, but time just slipped away, I guess." She looked up at him. "Do you notice something new every time?"

"No." Sheldon shocked his head. "It's still brilliant, but I still understand the same things and I still don't understand the same things."

"What don't you understand?" Amy asked, curious.

"Do you ever wonder where she got the idea? Two robots, perhaps even emotionally stunted robots, that don't begin to grow and experience love until they experience it together?" Sheldon asked.

"Ah, you're in the 'romantic love' camp as opposed to the 'intellectual partnership' camp, are you?" Amy asked, smiling softly.

"Not only are the two concepts not mutually exclusive, I would argue that intellectual partnership is vital for romantic love," he replied. "Regardless, there should not be confusion. It says so right in the title. Weightless. Like being head over heels." Sheldon paused and tilted his head. "I'm fairly certain it's on the Wikipedia disambiguation page. If it's not, it should be."

"Weightless. Like being beamed up?"

He glanced at her quickly as she saw him scan for the memory. There was only the barest of pauses, a tiny blip in the conversation, even now. His face softened and he smiled. "See, just as I said. It's a space story, too."

"But they don't start out to fall in love." Amy paused. "Well, maybe he does. Something makes him short circuit at the museum, something makes him look at her longer than is strictly necessary. Although he doesn't not compute it as love. Or maybe even attraction. I think he would say it's curiosity."

"All love is curiosity at its inception."

Amy reached out and took his hand. He still had such beautiful hands, even as they aged. "That was lovely."

He nodded slightly and squeezed her hand back. "Why do you think he left her?"

"He had to; his work was done, he had fulfilled his agreement. Marie was, for lack of a better phrase, a real girl," Amy explained.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I couldn't have left her. Love means remaining curious, too."

"Oh, Sheldon." Amy batted her eyelashes.

"You don't read it as often as you should because you cry every time you do," Sheldon said without malice, pulling her in close.

"That's not why I'm crying," she protested softly into his chest. "I hoped but never truly thought when we started our Book Club that you'd end up being so profound."

"This isn't Book Club," Sheldon said, sharper, pulling away a bit to look down at her. "That's in two weeks."

"I know it's not official Book Club, but well, we're talking about a book . . . And now that we're both retired we can have Book Club more often," she ventured.

"Hmmmm," he pursed his lips. "I look forward to reading many more books that you also enjoy, Amy, but, well -" he shrugged "- I like official Book Club. Looking forward to it is one of the best parts. It's a special night, scheduled and set aside just for the two of us. We've almost never wavered from it. And even if we do read more of the same books and discuss them - which I wouldn't mind at all - it won't be the same. But I don't want it to be either, because I want Book Club to remain special. Book Club has been with us longer than Ada . . . Longer than then this place, as it turns out."

There was no use hiding the tears now streaming down her face. All those years ago, when she curled up next to her grumbling boyfriend on the sofa in her old apartment, she never imagined him saying how much he looked forward to the their Book Club Nights. "Sheldon, I love you so much and I can't wait to spend retirement with you."

He pulled her in close. "I think Enzo left her so he could read the books that she wanted him to and wait for her to enter the room and tell him about them. And I shall do the same in my retirement: I'll read books, remain curious about what you think of them, and wait for you to enter the room and tell me."

* * *

"Look at you, you look like your mom and dad had a baby!"

Ada looked up from the pancakes at Jacob as he entered the kitchen, Claude riding on his hip. "What?"

"Your clothes," Jacob said, coming over to kiss her.

Ada looked down. "Oh, I just threw this on." But there was no denying Jacob was correct: she was wearing a striped cardigan over her  _Star Trek_  tee shirt. She smiled up at him before looking at her youngest. "Hey, little man, why are you still in your pajamas?"

"Tell Mama that's very hard living in a family of morning people," Jacob said as Claude buried his face into his shoulder. "Daddy understands. You'll get used to it. I promise."

"Are we talking today?" Ada asked softly. Claude shook his head. "That's okay. Silence is golden, too." She glanced at Jacob quickly before she announced, "Who wants chocolate chips pancakes before school?"

"It's not school, Mom. It's summer camp. There is a difference," Maxine announced from the table.

"Hey, do not talk to your mother that way!" Jacob said, pouring out and shaking out exactly half of cup of plain Cheerios on Claude's plate. If it was good day, he'd arrange them in rows and eat them. If it was a bad day, he'd just arrange them in rows. There were more good days now that he'd settled into his neurodiverse daycare with other children who were variations of him.

"Okay, summer camp," Ada said, putting a plate down. "Is this potting soil on the table?"

"Olmy did it," Maxine announced. Maxine was always announcing something.

"Olmsted, did you not wipe down the table after you replanted the Christmas cactus?" Ada asked. No response from her red haired son. "Olmsted, stop reading and answer the question."

"Huh? Oh." He shrugged but did look up from his tablet. "I forgot."

Sighing, Ada looked over at Jacob who was getting orange juice out of the fridge. "This is all your fault, you know."

He smiled at her. "I know."

"And no electronics at the table," Ada reminded her son, turning back to him.

Olmsted silently put his tablet to sleep but then grabbed a book from the sideboard and opened it. "Olmsted! What did I just say?"

"You said no electronics at the table," Maxine chimed in, "and a book is not an electronic."

"Do not argue with your mother over trivialities, young lady," Jacob said firmly.

"PopPop says the beauty of the universe is in the trivialities. And so does Mom," their dark-haired and bespectacled daughter said.

Jacob sniggered and tried to hide it without success. Ada swiveled her head toward him with narrow eyes. He lowered his hand and grinned, "And that one is all your fault."

Shaking her head, sitting down to eat, Ada decided to change the subject. "Remember that Grandpa and Grandma are arriving this evening."

"How long will they be here?" Olmsted looked up to ask.

"As long as they want," Jacob said, his eyes meeting Ada's as he sat down himself. Until Grandma Bernadette gets sick of three grandchildren, his sad look said. It was the pattern of all their visits, excitement from both of them at first and then Howard would come over alone more and more as Bernadette stayed behind in the guest house until finally Howard would come to Jacob with mumbled apologizes. "Bernie, you know . . . " he'd shrug.

After they left, Jacob usually would usually spend the whole day out in the yard, wedding and working furiously even when the plants didn't need it or even going out to work with one of his maintenance crews on campus. It was the only time Ada ever saw him get upset with his parents anymore, although she dreaded the day her children discovered that their grandparents had been divorced once, for years, before they remarried. It wasn't that it was a secret, but rather that it had just never come up. How would Jacob respond when he was asked why?

"I miss it when Tata and Gramps came," Maxine said softly, interrupting her thoughts.

Smiling sadly at the monikers that Raj and Sturt had chosen for themselves, Ada ran her palm along her daughter's hair and said, "I miss them, too, sweetheart. But if they were still here, they'd want you to enjoy your summer, your time with all your other grandparents."

"Okay, then, I wish PopPop and Nana would stay in the guest house," Maxine said. "Then PopPop and I could do experiments every day."

"Don't be stupid, Max," Olmsted said. "Why would they stay here? They live in this city, too."

"Olmy, don't say stupid, it's not nice," Maxine protested.

"All words have value," Olmsted pointed out. "One just has to learn to use them in the correct contexts."

"Okay, okay," Jacob said firmly. "Enough of that. Let's all agree that everyone's interests are equally important and that having our grandparents close is a blessing."

Ada turned from watching Claude eat his Cheerios to smile at her husband. She was so blessed to have him. And they were both so blessed to have her parents here, now, for a few years. They were wonderful grandparents, and their involvement and delight in the children's lives cushioned and obscured any faults that might have been noticed on the Wolowitz's twice yearly visits or any lingering sadness over Raj and Stuart's passing in the past couple of years.

A typical July breakfast: Claude silently making his rows of Cheerios; Olmsted eating with one hand, reading with the other; Augusta explaining to them the flowchart of goals for science camp she'd created, making activity plans for their grandparents, all the while Jacob and Ada were refereeing, laughing, instructing, smiling at each other over the big, boisterous family they wanted.

* * *

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, in the middle of a lush retirement community, Sheldon was flipping his batch of chocolate chip pancakes in their little kitchen and thinking about his day ahead. The chess club met at ten, and he'd be there, of course. He might take the bus into campus in the afternoon, prepare some things in his office he wanted Howard to see while he was in town.

How strange, he thought, sliding the pancakes out of the skillet and onto the two waiting plates, how easily he'd adapted over the past few years to this life with Amy. It was vastly different than what he'd ever known before, but there so many activities and classes and Ada and Jacob and his grandchildren and his heart had never felt so full.

He heard sounds from the bedroom and he smiled. Eager for Amy to come in, he quickly finished making the tea. She was still awake when he drifted off last night, so focused on the last few pages of her book, desperate to finish it before she went to sleep herself. It was the new biography of Neil deGrasse Tyson that he'd especially enjoyed and recommended to her. He couldn't wait to hear what she thought about it. It wasn't the official Book Club selection; that was  _Weightless_. He still read it every January and July, but Amy had made the valid point they'd never read for an official Book Club and she suggested they take notes. That discussion would happen next week. But, for this book, he didn't have long to wait. They could discuss it over breakfast.

But he did have to wait a few minutes, so he sat down at their small kitchen table, reflecting on his own reading of the biography, curious about what his wife thought about it, and he waited for Amy to enter the room and tell him.


	124. This Bed

**This Bed**

* * *

_Her husband, still not fully gray, although he was currently enjoying some scholarly gray temples, looked around their home, boxes labeled in Amy's neat script. "I wish we didn't have to leave."_

_"We don't have to leave," Amy corrected him. "It just seems the right time, now that we've both retired." Sheldon grunted, still chaffing under the non-existent yoke of leisure. "More importantly, we'll be close to Ada and Jacob and our grandchildren, and that is very important to me. And to you, too, I know."_

* * *

It is a phrase that has become overused with time, but it remains true. Amy knows he is gone even before she wakes. The bed feels too large, too expansive, too cold, too lonely without his presence. Rubbing her eyes, she sits up slowly on her elbows.

"Computer," she murmurs, "what time is it?"

"Two-oh-six a.m."

"Lights, then, at 30%."

The room lightens to dim glow and Amy swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Once glance tells her the cats are gone, too. She grabs her robe from the hook on the back of the door and shuffles out to the great room, dodging moving boxes. His silhouette is dark against the city lights behind him. In all the years they've lived here, several newer and taller buildings have surrounded them.

"Sheldon?" she whispers as she approaches. The cats that were flanking him turn to make their little welcome trills in her direction. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes."

She smiles at his honesty and starts to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. In so doing, her hand brushes something in his hands and she stops. "What do you have?"

He shifts in front of her, just enough so he can pass her what he is holding, but he does not turn around to watch her. Amy squints and says, "Computer, lights at full." Once the lights are up, she realizes it is two old-fashioned photographs. She smiles softly at the first, one of their wedding photos; not the one she has kept on her desk for years, first at Caltech and then here at home when she retired, of her smiling with abandonment and Sheldon looking surprised. No, this is the second photo Raj took that day, of Sheldon passing the bouquet of sunflowers to her, their hands meeting around the stems, their eyes meeting over the top. The second photo makes her heart skip a beat. It is the two of them on the hospital bed, Ada feeding at her breast. Two photos Sheldon never wanted taken and yet he is holding at this very moment.

"Where did these come from?" she asks.

"I always kept them in my desk at work. But of course I brought them home last month. I didn't want to lose them in the move."

"Oh, Sheldon." She has to bat her eyelashes to keep the tears at bay. Now she does wrap her arms all the way around his slender frame. "You sentimental old fool."

"I was thinking about this place when we first moved in," he says softly, placing his hands over hers on his waist. "How happy you were, how beautiful you were."

* * *

He woke in moment of confusion. The bed felt so much larger and softer than he remembered and there was a strange scratching sound. It only took a second, but then he understood. The new home, the new bed. He smiled to himself, looking at the closed blinds, enjoying the view. The view he will enjoy for the rest of his life. But what was that noise?

Rolling over, he raised his eyebrows at what he saw. Amy, her hair wet and dripping down her back, her face pink and free of make-up. She was wearing a tee shirt that didn't fully cover her expanding stomach, which meant it was one of Penny's old shirts, given to her as a necessity just after the fire. The pair of black maternity leggings she had found to wear around the house stretched up and over the baby, and the combination of such tight clothing left her entire form on display. Sheldon grinned wider even as she was oblivious to him, digging through one of the moving boxes, and he could easily watch her bottom shake with movement.

Yesterday, as they were moving in, Bernadette had told Amy how lucky she was to be at the "cute" stage of pregnancy, when it was obvious she was pregnant and not just overweight but not so large yet "that you look and feel like an elephant." Sheldon had no idea if that was true, but he couldn't imagine Amy looking unattractive and certainly not while she was pregnant. He enjoyed the view for a bit more, the curves of her new body, the fresh cleanliness of her face.

Finally, after a quiet but frustrated growl from her, he got out of bed and circled around to her. "Amy?"

She looked up and over her shoulder. "Sorry I woke you. I was looking for the socks. I thought I wrote socks on the outside of the box, but I guess not. Pregnancy brain." She shook her head and bent back down again.

"You're up early. You should be sleeping in while you can."

"No." Another shake of the head. "There's still a lot to put away. More dishes to run, and I have to wash the new towels before you shower. I just used one and got lint all over myself; you'd hate that." He was about to tell her not overexert herself when she looked back up, turning and standing upright this time. "I'm so excited to finally have all my own things to organize!"

He grinned at her early morning enthusiasm. If he had known how beautifully it would make her eyes glow, he would have bought her a new home years ago. Why was he always so resistant to change, at least when it came to Amy? He reached out for her hand. "I'm excited, too."

Pulling her nearer to him, angling his body slightly to allow him to get closer to her, he kissed her softly as his free hand reached over to touch her stomach. "She's gone quiet, I think she's sleeping," Amy mumbled into his lips.

"It's okay." Using his index finger, he traced the edge of her tight tee shirt, finding his way to the strip of skin just above her yoga pants.

"Watch my belly button, it tickles."

It was not her belly button he was after, and he snaked his hand up under her shirt, finding her breast, running his fingertips over her thin house bra until he felt her nipple harden. Once Amy moaned, Sheldon pulled her back in for another kiss, this one deep and pulsing with desire. Breaking the kiss, he leaned closer to her ear. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Did you just get out of the shower?"

"Yes . . ."

Instead of replying with words, he softly gripped the sides of her waist and turned her around, so she was leaning against a taller box. He bent down into a kiss, working his hands to her waist band, pulling down on her leggings, only pausing to catch the sides of her underwear, too, as his hands passed them, helping her lift her bottom up to aid in the disrobing of his wife.

"Oh, Sheldon," Amy moaned, gripping the sides of the box and throwing her head back. Dipping to his knees, he lowered the leggings and slid them off her ankles. Then, picking up one of her feet, he started on her instep, kissing slowly, climbing higher, relishing the sound of her breath, coming harder and faster with anticipation, his kisses a metronome for her desire.

It was there, then, what Sheldon sought: the very center of his Amy. He loved her there gently, slowly, his lips curling into a smile when they could. Her leg was over his shoulder, and he could feel her heel moving against his back every time her foot contracted with pleasure. The only negative about this position at that time in Amy's life was that her face was hidden now behind her alluring belly. Glancing up, he took his free hand and traced the darkening linea nigra, stopping just at the edge of her flattening and newly sensitive belly button. He didn't have time to wonder if she would bat his fingertips away before she climaxed around him, her heel thumping especially hard against his back, her thighs squeezing his head, and, he thought, even her stomach pulling a bit away from him.

One soft kiss on her hip and he rose. "Good morning and welcome home," he whispered.

Amy's eyes were at their most magnificent after she experienced an orgasm and they dazzled him with their brilliance. "I'll say," she panted. She lifted her arms off the edge of the cardboard moving box and wrapped them around his neck. "Should we -"

"I have to wash my face." Sheldon frowned at himself, not having meant to blurt it out so harshly like that. "I'm sorry," he added weakly.

"Go." She ticked with her head. He paused, just a second, and then she smiled softly. Dear Amy, she understood.

Rushing in the bathroom, throwing off his pajamas while he was at it, Sheldon hoped the moment hadn't been lost to his poor planning. He was usually more prepared when he decided to love Amy in that fashion so that there would be minimal interruptions. He had tried once not to wash his face, but then Amy had tried to kiss him and his sudden pulling out had killed the mood more than any swipe with a washcloth ever had.

There was no clear answer when he returned to the bedroom. Amy was in bed, curled up on her side, a few extra pillows arranged around her for support, and Sheldon could have believed she was settling in for a post-orgasmatic nap. But his hopes raised when he noticed she had not put any clothes back on; instead, she had removed them all and was lying there naked. He walked quietly to the edge of the bed and looked down at her form, everything so rounded: the softer shapes of her face lately, the new fullness to her breasts, the darker circles of her areoles, the swooping curve of her bottom, and, most especially, the beauty of their growing baby. Pi and Amy, both in all their beautiful variations.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to him. "Are you joining me?"

Sheldon licked his lips. He did not want to misread this situation. "Are you returning to bed?"

"Not for sleep. Come." She lifted her hand off her stomach and he took it, carefully crawling onto the bed around her.

Amy started to shift, and Sheldon put his hand on her hip. "No, stay like that."

"Ah, yes," she smiled, turning her head back so her profile was visible once more, "you do like to spoon in the mornings."

"I was thinking - could we do it like this?" he asked, looking down at her. Amy looked back up at him in surprise. "I know it's unusual, but I love the way you look, curled up like that."

"Okay." Not surprised that she understood exactly what he meant, Amy turned her face away from him again and lowered her chin some, curling up even a little tighter.

It was not easy, that perpendicular approach. She had to straighten her legs anyway, so he could reach her, and Amy's new size meant he struggled for somewhere to put his right hand. But he managed to get himself aligned correctly, and he leaned close to her ear. "Tell me if you don't like this or if it's uncomfortable."

Breathing out deeply as he found his way into her, he paused, letting her shift her hip. He tried a careful, slow thrust. It had a been very long time since he'd experienced Amy at this angle. "How is this?" he whispered.

"It's good," she said.

It was more than he could have imagined: the tightness of her body as it spiraled around her abdomen, the tightness of her body as it held him. He loved watching her skin, pale and stretching over her magnificent form but gradually flushing with heat. It was not mathematically the golden spiral formed by the Fibonacci sequence, but it was, in that moment, far more radiant than any spiral galaxy he'd ever seen or theorized about.

Wanting Amy to feel that radiance along with him, he shifted his weight to one arm and reached to caress her breast. He said, just before he knew from her breath that she was going to climax along with him, "I am so happy with you, in this house, in this bed."

* * *

"How happy you were, how beautiful you were." Before Amy can even raise her eyebrows, he corrects himself. "You still are, you know. That beautiful."

She chuckles into his back. "It's okay, Sheldon. I am well aware of the ravishes of time. Thirty-seven is in my distant past now."

"No." He turns sharply in her arms, loosening them as a consequence. "It's a different beauty, of course. You're not pregnant. But you are just as happy to leave this house as you were to move into it, and you are never more beautiful than when you are happy."

Blushing at this, Amy says, "I am happy." Then she adds, "And you are never more handsome than when you try something new."

* * *

There was nothing unduly special about the night. They were back from London and they settled back into their rhythms of summer. It was not a Date Night or even Book Club Night. Dinner, while filling and nutritious, was not anything new or inventive. Ada had a little model to put together for summer enrichment camp; but instead of an adorable half hour between her and her father, she had insisted on putting it together herself which left Sheldon looking disappointed and a little sad. And he was wearing a Captain America tee shirt, not even one of her favorite henley shirts.

Yet, when she had gone to read in her own bed after reading with Ada that evening, she found herself looking away from her iKindle, lost in thoughts of him. And those thoughts are not pure in nature. She could not help but imagine the way he walked, those long, sure strides. The beauty of his fingers, how skilled he was at using them. The blue of his eyes, purer and more radiant than any stained glass. The soft alabaster of his skin, more gentle than any statue.

A smile teasing at her lips, she lifted her iKindle again and sent him a message. "Come to bed."

"Are you ill?"

"No. Come to bed."

"It is not yet ten o'clock."

Amy rolled her eyes. Never mind that she was essentially texting her husband in the next room. "Don't be obtuse. Bring your naked body to our bed."

There was no response and Amy strained her ears. She thought, perhaps, she head a faint shuffle down the hallway, but she wasn't sure. Then she definitely heard rustling noises in the hallway. What was that? Should she get up and investigate? What if Ada had gotten up because she was ill?

Before she could get out of bed, he suddenly appeared at the doorway of their bedroom. All six feet and one inches of his porcelain body, naked and already semi-erect. "You rang?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Hoooooo," Amy breathed out. Then her senses returned. "Get in here! What if Ada opens her door and sees you?"

"She's already asleep. I checked." Nonetheless, he stepped inside their bedroom proper and shut the door behind him.

"Now, little lady," he said, taking off his glasses, padding over to his side of the bed and nonchalantly stretching out on it, "I have brought my naked body to your bed. And yet you are still fully clothed. This hardly seems fair. What do you propose?"

"I want to look at you. All of you. Admire you." She shifted to put her iKindle on her bedside table. "Lie on your stomach."

"My stomach?" His brows dipped. "Wait, I thought this was sexual. It's not time for our monthly mole and freckle inspections."

"I know."

He paused in obvious confusion but then nodded and rolled over for her. Leaning over him, she gently ran her palm along his back, the largest expanse of his beautiful skin, down and over the curve of his buttocks, still tight even at his age. She trailed over the back of his legs, covered in their dark hair, and his feet twitched when her fingertips brushed against the back of his knees. Even the soles of his feet, the skin wrinkling, were somehow appealing tonight. Sheldon remained silent throughout.

"Roll over," she whispered hoarsely, and he complied.

Oh, the body of Sheldon Cooper! Time had been unfairly kind to him, as he was one of those lucky men who both seemed not to age and yet became ever more handsome as they do. Although he was still lanky, he had filled out from when she first met him and found him so skinny that it was alarming. His skin, thanks to his stringent sunscreen application, remained pale and luminous, especially there in the half-light of their bedroom. Yes, there were those moles he worried about - for some reason she found the ones on his neck and by his ears especially charming - but they existed as though they were stars upon his own Milky Way. Amy worked her way up his body this time, past his long toes and feet, up the hair-covered legs, the dimples of his knees. The leg hair suddenly ceased, giving way to another patch of neatly groomed hair that she chose to ignore for the moment. She took just the tip of her index finger and traipsed with the barest touch straight up the part of him that was most on display.

"Amy," he moaned softly.

"Shhh, in a minute." The soft flesh of his waist, the trial of hair leading up to his belly button. Then his stomach. While perhaps it was true that he did not possess the chiseled abs of a body-builder, Amy envied its flatness, what a soft plain it created. Up to the small, scant patch of chest hair, so in contrast to his legs, then over to toy with his nipples in just he way she knew he liked. His neck was so long, the tendons often popping and stretching when he was surprised or confused or just proving a point. Those lips! Pink and soft. The delicate skin of his cheek. His eyebrows, which always threatened to become untamed and grew in far too much. Sheldon had to trim them weekly to try and reign them in and there were still times Amy had to gently suggest that he allow her to assist in some plucking.

Just beneath those eyebrows, his beautiful blue eyes were staring at her. "Amy?" he asked softly once her hand found its way into his dark and still full head of hair.

Instead of answering, she reached for the hem on her summer nightgown and lifted the fabric over her head, tossing it aside. With difficultly on the bed, she shimmied out of her panties and threw them away, too. In one swift motion, she straddled him, holding herself up on her knees so that she won't crush the most delicate part of him. Swallowing, she applied the same carcasses to her own body, starting at her forehead and moving down, listening to the sounds of Sheldon's breath, especially when it shallowed as she encircled her own nipple, feeling it harden further in desire.

She watched his pupils steadily grow ever wider, and almost all of the blue was lost when she dipped her fingers down, threatening to touch herself. Stopping, she smiled at him coyly, "Or would you rather?"

"Oh, Lordy, I thought you'd never ask!"

The huge burst of laughter that poured our of her lungs seemed doubly loud in the room that had so recently been filled only with silence and beautiful longing. But it was interrupted by a gasp and shiver of pleasure as Sheldon's fingers made good on her offer. "Sheldon," she moaned, closing her eyes. But his fingers were not working to bring her to climax, they are exploring, taunting, teasing. "Sheldon, please," Amy whispered, her voice husky with desire.

Without a word, Sheldon trapped her waist and lowered her suddenly, almost harshly, but she relished the sound of his growl which indicated that was how he wanted it. Smiling coyly down at him, she started moving above him slowly, teasing him this time. Then, leaning forward, she took his hands off her hips and intertwined her fingers with his above his head, her nose almost touching his as she stared at him and set a rapid pace.

It did not take long for either one of them, and just as she threw her head back in pleasure, Amy thought about how happy she was to be home with him, in this bed.

* * *

"Here." Sheldon takes the photographs out of her hands and then walks the two steps the dining table to set them down, right next to the sticker that says Sell. It is too large for their new apartment in the retirement community, as they now face the moment in everyone's advanced years in which downsizing become a necessity. For a second, Amy remembers all the laughter and the tears at that table. And the one time they made love there. Lost in her memories, her melancholy about leaving this home they've made together, but, especially, lost in the look in his eyes, Amy does not notice there was a third photograph, too, stuck to the second.

Sheldon puts out his hand and she takes it, the words unspoken and needless between them, and they return to their bed.

It does not happen nearly as often as it once did. It is not that the love is lost, not by any means; it is just that gradually, the pleasure that comes from snuggling up to him in bed has become as desirous as other things they may do there. It is a different type of pleasure, but no less pleasurable. But it still does happen, from time to time, and she loves his aging body just as much now as she always has.

And this time, he whispers, just before he knows from her breath that she is going to climax along with him, "I have been so happy with you, in this house, in this bed."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	125. Year Fifty

**. . .**

* * *

**The Anniversary Evolution**

**Year Fifty**

* * *

It is the mornings that are the worst. Amy's eyelids flutter open and she shifts gently to determine if her hip is actually painful or just still asleep. It is a question she has had to ask herself every morning. First, because her hip has bothered her for years. She thought it was just routine oestoarthritis, but later it was discovered that the joint had been slightly misaligned at some point, most likely during childbirth. The many pains of new mother are so complex that she had not noticed it being more unusually painful than the rest of her abused body or her mind from exhaustion or her heart from holding so much love and terror at the same time. But, now, since her hip replacement three months ago, every day is better, although it is still often stiff first thing in the morning.

As she rolls to relieve the pressure on her hip, her hand brushes something crunchy on the blanket. Lifting her head, she picks up the piece of paper and smiles. This year, as he does every year, he thought of everything. Grateful yet again for her cataract surgeries, she picks each one up slowly from the line they are arranged in on top of the comforter. Six little pieces of yellow paper, one for every book they read together during the past year. No, that is not true. Now that they are both retired, they read many of the same books and discuss them at all sorts of various times. And yet, after all these years, every other month they still pick an official Book Club selection to discuss on the last day of the month.

"I love you more than Roland loved Maud." From  _Possession_ , a book Amy loved so much she had no sooner read the last sentence than she started it all over again.

Rolling all the way on her back to pick up the next Post-It, she realizes that she is being watched. He is sitting up, his iBar on his lap, throwing the holotext into the empty space above it, but he is watching her. She looks up at him, his eyes still so very blue. His glasses are gone unless he's reading for a long span of time, just as her's have been, thanks to the latest intraocular lens technologies. "Are you spying on me?"

"Gazing upon you. There's a difference." Still she blushes.

Putting his bar on his end table, turning off the hologram of text as he does, he does not say anything else as she reviews the last notes. She smiles up at him. "Isn't this late for you to be in bed?"

"I like to watch you reading them."

"This place is small enough you could have come in when you heard me moving."

"I am not a spry man of seventy anymore."

Amy chuckles. No, he will turn eighty-five this year. Eighty-five! She does not like to dwell on how old that makes her. Where have the years gone? As if to prove his point, Sheldon begins the slow process of lowering himself back into bed next to her. She is too surprised to ask why, and when he reaches for her, she happily rolls to put her head on his chest.

Sheldon strokes her hair, all white now, but still a few inches below her shoulders just the way he likes it. She braids it every day and usually wraps it into a knot as becoming her elderly status. But here in their bed, it remains loose. "How's your hip?" Sheldon whispers.

"Just still, I think, from sleeping. Some pins and needles, but no pain. It's getting better every day."

"Good."

Considering asking him about his knees or his back or his fingers, Amy decides against it. The ravishes of time have finally caught up to Sheldon, and his knees ache from carrying his height for years and his back aches from his poor posture and slender build and his beautiful long fingers are boney and forever chilled from . . . time. Still, though, she thinks he is the most handsome man she has ever known. Even now, with is his slow, slightly stooped walk, his hair is not completely gray, just salt and pepper. He complained about the cane Ada bought him after he fell on the ice last month, but he carried it with the aplomb of Fred Astaire in the two weeks before he insisted on throwing it in the back of the closet and forgetting about it. Amy knows that if she weren't present anymore, all the old woman in their retirement community would be lining up to throw themselves at him. The idea makes her chuckle again.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just imagining if you were a widower, how you'd have to beat the ladies off with that cane of yours."

"Amy!" He seems genuinely shocked. "Don't say such a thing!"

"What? You don't want to be fawned over?" She is still chuckling.

"No." He squeezes her firmly. "Not that part."

"Oh," she says softly and squeezes his hand back. No, she doesn't want to think about him dying, either.

She shakes off the thoughts of death. Yes, they are in their mid-eighties now, but other than a few relatively mild pains and her recent surgery, they are still healthy. There was brief scare when Sheldon had to take a nitroglycerin tablet for the first time last summer, but it was a false alarm caused by, it seems, a particularly controversial episode of  _Nova_. Of course, she also has the hypertension/hypercholesterol combination of almost all senior citizens, but there is a pill for that. They still have all their mental facilities, and that is the most important thing to both of them.

Instead, looking around their small bedroom, Amy mentally plans her day. It is Valentine's Day, and there is some sort of silly party planned in the dining hall over lunch. They will skip it as that is just the type of thing Sheldon claims to hate, heating up something like soup in their tiny kitchen instead. Then tonight, she will make spaghetti with hot dogs. She even convinced Ada to let her buy Strawberry Qwik at the grocery store last week, appealing to Ada's weakness for her father, and Amy has hidden it away in her dresser of all places to surprise Sheldon with it. She has no choice; their apartment is not nearly as large as their condominium in Pasadena was, and he would find it in a kitchen cupboard. But they do not need the space. Every year, fewer of their old friends travel anymore or pass away, like dear Raj and Stuart, and even Leonard and Penny will stay in Ada's guest cottage.

It is not a complaint. As difficult as it was to down-size and as much as Sheldon fought it, they have settled in here nicely with all the other retired professors. Despite the winters they both have grown to dislike, Ada and Jacob and the grandchildren are close and that is all that matters now. Although they haven't recently because of her hip surgery, they also have the time to travel, and they have seen so many places, alone or with Ada's family. Even here in their new home there are so many activities: chess and game clubs, Lifelong Learning classes, sewing and knitting circles, transportation to all the theatrical and musical events, the list is almost endless. At first, Sheldon would go to campus every morning and putter around his office there, but the times per a week dwindled and eventually he gave it up. Now, he is content to take the bus to have lunch with Ada and a couple of her fellow professors at one of the cafeterias every Tuesday and they discuss science. Sometimes, if the discussion is especially heated, he will call and say he going to the physics department to continue the debate in someone else's office.

Mostly, though, they spend their days together here, just the two of them since their cats passed on and they decided they were too elderly to get more. And how much room do she and Sheldon need anyway? There is still no one else's company she prefers over his, even her daughter's. Not that retirement was not an adjustment for them as they were unaccustomed to the idea of idleness and to being in each other's presence all day long. They had to find new rhythms, but they had already perfected the art of being alone but together in a room. It was just a matter of timing.

And today, this most special day, they will spend it alone together, eating all their meals here instead of the dining hall. It is fitting. They spent that day fifty years ago together, too, never leaving the door of their old apartment.

"'Small enough to fit snugly into their hearts, big enough to protect them, beautiful enough to be a permanent touchstone as they got to know each other. Who are you, how would you, how do you feel, and what is the arc of your moods over an hour, a day, a few weeks? These things they discovered with ease in their heart-sized home,'" Amy quotes, relieved as she is every time she remembers something so well.

She feels Sheldon raise his head. " _The Little Paris Bookshop_?"

Amy rustles the Post-Its she is still holding in her hand on Sheldon's chest. "November, as I'm sure you remember. I was just thinking it was applicable both to our first apartment and to our current."

Sheldon rubs her back and says, "Fifty years today."

Smiling, Amy tries to burrow closer to him. "Yes. But don't tell Ada."

Next week, Ada has planned a fiftieth anniversary party for them, which Sheldon is already dreading and to which Amy is already looking forward. She even asked Ada to take her shopping for something new to wear, and they are going tomorrow. Amy hopes she can find something in the correct shade of green.

"What were you thinking fifty years ago today?" Amy asks.

"I was trying to figure out a way we could both do laundry and watch your little Valentine's Day movie. It was a Saturday, if you recall," he answers. "But I could tell you had a plan cooked up."

"A plan?" Amy says with a laugh. "You could have asked. I probably would have agreed. I was so nervous all day about making it too romantic because of how much you hated Valentine's Day and because of - well, I promised you no Amorous Activities."

"Not the first or the last time you defied me," Sheldon said.

" _Defy_  you? When have I ever taken orders from you? And you cannot tell me that you have forgotten that it was  _your_  idea to go the bedroom."

"Hhmmpphh." But it is soft and gentle, and he angles his head to kiss her forehead. "You vixen."

Amy leans her head back further to met his gaze and they smile softly at each other. The party and the attention next week do not matter as much as they might; they are for Ada and their grandchildren, really. Today, as it always had been, is just their little secret. Even though they do not break their gaze, Sheldon brings a hand up to start brushing along her face, stroking her temple and down her cheek.

Of the ways he has brushed her skin over the years this is . . . one of her favorites. Not her favorite, but also not less than her favorite. She still remembers, with perfect clarity, those heart pounding moments in which his hands and mouth could not seem to get enough of her and the way her skin felt like it was on fire. Now, when they are intimate, it is slower and quieter and not so feverish. It's more carefully orchestrated, necessary bluntness about aches and ranges of motion having replaced euphemisms and pillow talk.

And yet, to be held and stroked so gently, to feel his fingertips upon her skin, to see his eyes looking down at her so intently, as though he's forever surprised she is still there . . . That still feels the same, that still causes the same sigh of happiness down in the very center of her soul. His fingers are so soothing, she wants to close her eyes and be lulled back to sleep. But she does not want to break his gaze. It is the same way he looked at her all those years ago, standing in their old living room, the lip balm lost and forgotten under the sofa -

"How is your hip? Can you make love?" he asks softly. Yes, it  _is_  the exact same look. "Do you want to make love?"

"I thought we would tonight, after the movie, after we'd had time to warm up." There is no room for embarrassment now.

"We can," he is still stroking her face, "but I'm, uh, ready now."

Nodding and smiling, Amy says, "My hip feels good. Yes."

And then, there is a moment, when he brushes and kisses her thin and age-spotted skin with so much heat that she feels like she has caught fire, that she knows they will never get enough of each other, no matter how many years remain.

He whispers in the heat, "You are warp drive and the dark side and the light side of the moon at the same time and I think I'm going to combust and I love you so much, my Amy."

She whispers, just before her body pulses the way he has made if for fifty years now, "You set my lambic system on fire and you are green tea and lemon zinger at the same time and I want to go supernova with you and I love you so much, my Sheldon."

* * *

Although a different style, the shade of emerald green is close enough. Amy saw Sheldon spying in her while she was dressing after her shower, the pop of his blue eyes around the corner of the door and his shuffle away. When he returns, as she applying her lip gloss, he has changed out of his dress shirt and tie. Not into a Flash tee shirt, because he no longer owns one, but it is his red henley.

"I hope Ada isn't disappointed you didn't dress up for her party," Amy says with a grin.

"But you love it," Sheldon says, coming to stand beside her in the mirror, combing his hair before they leave. "Do you know what your blouse needs?"

"What?" Amy's hand flashes to her chest. She thought Sheldon would love this blouse. And obviously he has understood her, as he changed into his red shirt.

"This." He pulls the small black box out of his pocket and opens the lid for her.

A squeak is the only sound Amy can make at first. Sheldon has not bought her jewelry since her engagement ring, the one that actually came after the marriage. Then she manages to hush, as she bats the tears away with her eyelids, "Oh, Sheldon."

With a little quiver, Sheldon removes the pendant from its velvet bed. It is small, not flashy. But it is perfect: a tiny silver tiara dangles from the chain, each point sparkling with what must be a very small diamond. She watches him struggle with the clasp for a moment, and then she takes it from him. They chuckle that it takes both of them and Amy's strong magnifying mirror to get it in place around her neck.

"You shouldn't have. It's too much," Amy says, looking up at him so he can see the crown twinkle against her neck, Sheldon's hands upon her shoulders.

"You're still my princess." He leans down and kisses her. "Every day for fifty plus years."

* * *

 

 

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	126. The Natural History of Dragons, Reprise

**. . .**

* * *

**The Cooper Wolowitz Publication Federation**

**August 2065**

**Primary Topic: _The Natural History of Dragons: A Memoir by Lady Trent_ by Marie Brennan**

**Additional book(s) mentioned: _Weightless_  by Ada Fowler Cooper**

* * *

Another sabbatical. Classes were starting today without her. Ada looked out the kitchen window at the late summer day and wondered where the years had gone so that she qualified for another. What would she do with her time this semester? She didn't have children to chase around anymore, pick-ups and drops off to arrange. Olmsted had his own career as a librarian and an apartment downtown to go with it. Maxine was away at Caltech. And Claude . . .

Ada watched Claude through the window as she did most every morning, walking the circuit of the back yard with Frank, his service dog. As it was early, Frank wasn't technically on duty yet, and he bouncing around, enjoying some time before his harness and duties were placed upon him, before he would walk Claude down the street for another day at his school. In the morning, the school where he was not alone, where everyone was a varying degree of him; in the afternoon, the same high school her other children had attended.

"Hey," Jacob said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Making plans for your next masterpiece? More Japanese poetry? A new theorem? Another set of paintings?"

Smiling, Ada shook her head. "I've been thinking about Pluto."

"Pluto?" Jacob backed away. "The old planet?"

"Yes, it's so far away from the sun and so icy. I was thinking about mermaids." Ada turned look at him.

"And these thoughts are . . . related?" Jacob asked.

" _Weightess_ was cubic, all those sharp angles and degrees. But mermaids could swim under the ice and it would be soft and fluid, all the lines would be curved, based on pi."

"'Would.' So, related. A graphic novel?"

An absent minded nod as she saw it forming in her mind. Something sinuous. Art Nouveau? Yes. Icy blues and minty greens. A strong female protagonist, something to reclaim mermaids from that misogynist Danish tale.

"But you proved pi wasn't necessary. It's considered old-fashioned now," Jacob pointed out, reaching for the box of Cheerios as Claude and Frank made their way in the back door. "Good morning, Claude."

"Good morning, Dad," Claude said. "Good morning, Mom."

"Good morning," Ada called, and then looked back at Jacob. "That's why it would be so interesting. Pi may be cumbersome and unnecessary, but it still works. Just like Pluto, still circling the sun, regardless of its classification."

"Plus," Jacob said, pouring a mug of coffee and heading to the kitchen table, "since you're the one who proved we don't need pi, your use of it would be . . . ironically brilliant?"

"Something like that," she smiled.

"No one uses pi anymore," Claude said, pouring his Cheerios out on a plate. He still ate them dry every morning. "We use the Cooper Rule."

"You can thank you mother for that," Jacob said.

"Thanks, Mom."

Ada chuckled and went to join her husband and son at the table. There was a ritual to breakfast, asking Claude about the day's schedule and letting him recite it, watching Frank trying to get the cats to play with him before his work started. Then the table was cleared, everyone went upstairs to brush their teeth, lunches were retrieved from the refrigerator, and Ada went out to the sidewalk to watch the backs of Claude and Frank as they walked away from her.

"You can't watch him every morning for the rest of his life," Jacob said softly, coming to stand next to her instead of going to his car.

"I know. And I know I don't even need to watch him. He's got Frank and he's so intelligent and things are so different now that they were twenty years ago, everyone understands now."

"But you're his mother," Jacob said.

"That never changes."

"Speaking of parents, has Sheldon called yet?"

Turning and shaking her head, Ada smiled. "No. I think he learned his lesson from my last sabbatical."

Jacob smiled back at the memory. Sheldon, although forever proud of his little genius - he still called her that - could not understand why she'd take another sabbatical. "But you've already taken several! You take one every chance you get!"

"And I've done something different for each of them, something I wouldn't otherwise have the time to do. I haven't been idle. Plus all I do while I am working." She didn't name them, because her father knew. Other than her Fields Medal for the Cooper Rule, she'd published a book of traditional Japanese iroha poems, exhibited a collection of Impressionist paintings based on the gardens of France (not her best, she still thought, Impressionism wasn't her forte), was a Pulitzer nominated finalist for her biography of Ada Lovelace, wrote a play in the strict style of Agatha Christie that was always being performed somewhere, redeemed herself with her series of paintings in the style of Gerald Murphy, and, unbeknownst to anyone outside her family, used a pseudonym to write and draw  _Wonder Woman_  comics in the traditional style. "I'm not like you, Dad. I like trying to master different things."

"Please consider teaching a Lifelong Learning course," Dad tried one last time. "They're only four weeks long, once a week. You could teach one that meets here and your mother and I could come."

He'd been so thrilled when she decided to do it, Ada almost felt cruel when he sat down in the room full of other retirees and glanced down at the packet she handed out. "Writing Love Poems in the Japanese Style?" He turned his head sharply toward Mom, sitting next to him. "Did you know about this?"

Mom had smirked back. "You said you'd take her class."

Ada sighed softly at the memory. Perhaps the last laugh had been on her. Despite his grumbling, Ada had found his final poem moving. As the class was only for the enrichment of adults, there were no grades but Ada had offered to read and critique her pupils' work if they wanted. She only wrote positive things in the margins since the class was meant to be fun, but she found even these very intelligent people used too many adverbs and wrote with too much flourish to truly be Japanese in style. However, Dad wrote about a pair of binary stars with such spare and precise language that she was in awe of his talent, that she felt like one of those stars, holding on to the other for warmth in the icy vacuum of space. Despite its scientific topic and vocabulary that, on first glance, seemed to mock the entire theme of the course, Ada could not shake the feeling it  _was_  hauntingly romantic. Which was absurd, of course; Dad would never write a love poem.

Yes, it was only a scientific work, she reasoned, more than a little relieved that he didn't write about Mom, because her poem about him had been embarrassing enough. Until she had been helping Mom chop vegetables for their usual Sunday lunch together and she really looked down at her mother's wedding ring, paying attention to the two little diamonds set in the band for the first time.

"Mom? Did you ever tell me why there are two diamonds in your ring?"

"They're binary stars. Will you pass me the celery?"

Back in the present, Ada gave Jacob a good-bye kiss, waving as he got into his car. She let out a deep breath as he pulled away. A whole day to herself. She'd probably go to the Y to swim. She needed to call her mother's doctor and make an appointment for those headaches she'd been having, because she couldn't convince Mom to do it herself. Then start the new book. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of a graphic novel. It felt good to be returning to her roots.

Just returning to the house, the phone rang. Not a tone she recognized. "Computer, who is it?"

"Meadowood Health and Living."

"Mom or Dad?" Ada frowned. What was wrong with Siri? She knew their numbers. She'd have to check her settings.

"Neither. Arthur Richardson, Director."

She hoped she wasn't being asked to be on some committee. It was probably all her father's fault, suggesting her to the director, believing he had to find things for her to do to fill her time. Other than sitting down to read or watch something with Mom, Dad remained active. He still went to campus once a week to "work," which meant joining Ada and some physics professors for lunch. Another complaint he'd had about her sabbaticals, that she may not be there every week.

"Okay, fine, put him through."

* * *

Something wasn't right. Amy stirred in her sleep. What was wrong? She felt . . . Her eyes popped open and she jerked. Who was that? Why was someone here?

Oh! Oh. It was him! Him! Yes, him. Whoever he was. She remembered him. But where was the baby? There was a baby. A dark haired baby. The baby was probably hungry. The baby looked like him. Him.

He would get the baby. She reached out to wake him, but her arm felt funny. Like she was thinking through pea soup. No, sweet potato soup. Babies came from sweet potato soup. Very special hugs. Managing to only move her bottom leg out from under her leaden leg, she tried to kick him. Him.

"Amy?" he murmured and woke, looking at her. Purple. No, not purple, next to purple. The color on the train. They were on a train. Her lips were tingling. Him. Why were they so close? This was his pillow.

"Amy?" Louder. He sounded . . . not angry. And who was Amy? Amy lived on a beach. In a big hat and sunglasses and fuchsia toenails. A red roof. He was on the beach, too. Eighty years ago . . . no, maybe she traveled eighty years for him. Him, always him.

"I'm calling for the nurse!" He suddenly shifted, surprising her with the movement. Why would he call for a nurse? He would call, on the screen. They would go to Stockholm together and there would be a boat and she would hear the sound of his breathing. She would breathe in the library, in the dust, with a globe, on a table. Zombies? What are zombies? But he would be there, on the screen, in the library. Him, always him.

"Dooog," she managed to say. No, that wasn't right, either. That's not the word she wanted. She could see the word, but she didn't know how to say it. They would dig up alligator bones today. No, not alligator. Bigger. He would leave her, disappear without his clothes, and come back last week. No, he was right there. In a suit. In the candlelight. She would eat the Brazil nuts for him. For him, always.

"Dog? Amy, what are you saying?"

Her arm free now, not the dead one, the only one, she touched his hand. No. She wanted him to know. No, she would not wear the red wig. Yes, she would wear her black bra. She would step into his time machine with him. It would be an adventure. He would help her find her lip balm. It was under the sofa. It was between the sheets. They would find it together. Them. Him.

"Amy, please, please, let me call." There was water on his face. The earthquake shook it out. The fire made it rain. The fireman. He was a fireman. Once. Before he fell into the pond playing golf. He was a golfer and there were mint juleps. The little girl was there, too. Despite the knives ripping her body in two, he asked her to do it for him and for the baby. What baby? But him, he was there.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Him. He was . . . everything. He was . . . she . . . loved him. Love was so heavy. Like her leg. Like her arm. Love made the side of her face tingle. Love made her head hurt so much. Love was ripping her head in two.

Another earthquake. There was a fortress and it was shaking. There were stones. She wanted to hold them together, but her body wasn't working right. If the stones fell, if the fortress fell, the water would have no where to hide. The water on his face. It was already coming out.

She was beautiful, the tall woman, her hair glaring in the sunlight. On the beach. Reflecting off the snow. Reflecting off her white gown. It was the color of a new penny. Pennies for the new house. Blue. Yes, blue. Blue for her eyes. Blue for the ribbon on their medals. Blue for his eyes. She was his princess and this was her tiara. Him. Always him.

He was so heavy. No, she was so heavy. Holding him, carrying him had been light. Weightless. She couldn't hold him much longer. She had held him, between her heartbeats, for so long. The stones were falling. One by one.

She tried again. To make him understand. She opened her eyes. She saw the words, she tried them in her mind first. Her mind was so heavy. Like after MeeMaw died. MeeMaw? She was a rose and her prince flew away with a flock of birds. No, distractions.

Him. Look at him. Concentrate on him. Always, it was him. For him, always. She couldn't hold him. She had loved him too much, for ". . . too long." The effort carried away all but the last stone. She was so very tired. Not of loving him. But the force of his love was greater than her. One last stone. "Sheldon." And then she was gone.

* * *

"Amy? Amy!" He reached out for her, her face broken and drooping in his hands. "What was too long? Nothing has been too long."

Shaking her gently, his tears obscuring his vision. No, no, not his Amy. His bride, his beloved. The most beautiful person he'd ever known. "No, no, Amy." Sobs started to shake him and he pulled her body in closer. "No, it has not been long enough. It will  _never_  be long enough!"

He held her and sobbed, and he felt his heart break. Down his arm, up his neck, went the pieces. So much pain. It was so heavy, like he was a hurricane of pain, a tempest adrift upon the ocean without her protection.

Maybe it was not too late to call. But it hurt too much to move. And he had promised her once he wouldn't, that he wouldn't prolong the inevitable. Breathing made his chest burn. His heart was imploding. If it hadn't been so painful, he would have snorted. No one dies of a broken heart. That's something made up for hippy-dippy overly sentimental love poems for lesser minds.

So painful without her protection, cast out upon the sea. He needed more time to love her. He was so cold, clinging to her for warmth. Around him was only a vacuum. Sobbing into her hair, he whispered, "I will never have long enough. I will never have enough time to love you."

The pain intensified until it hurt even his eyes as his vision left and he couldn't breathe anymore. He never could breathe without her in the room. Only an exhale was left. "Amy."

* * *

"Dr. Cooper?" It was said softly, with a gentle knock at the door.

"Yes?" Ada turned from the picture window.

"I'm so sorry to bother you at a time like this," Mr Richardson started, "but they'll be here soon. The coroners to, um, take them away. I just thought I should let you know."

"Can they wait until my husband arrives? He's on his way."

"Of course, of course. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you." Ada turned back around to watch the wind rustle the leaves of the sycamore tree out the picture window.

Mr. Richardson coughed softly, and Ada turned back around. "Yes?"

"I'm so sorry, but I just - As I'm sure you're aware, once the . . . uh, certificates are filed, it will instantly be public knowledge. Of course, we will adamantly protect your privacy, but, given the circumstances, there is bound to be . . . press."

"Of course." Ada nodded. She took a deep breath. Honesty, she hadn't considered it yet. The whole thing was so . . . well, she was in shock, she knew.

"Ada? Ada!" Jacob came flying in then, through the apartment door, past Mr. Richardson and his expensive suit, toward Ada at the window.

"I'll leave you alone," Mr. Richardson mumbled, turning and leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Jacob pulled her in, smelling like dirt and sunshine. All the things she loved about him. "I'm so sorry. I should have been at my desk, not out with a crew. You shouldn't have come alone."

Ada wrapped her arms around him, leaning over him. The only time she wished he were taller were moments like this, when she just wanted him to encircle her and support her and protect her. "You didn't know. It's all so unexpected."

"Can you talk about it?" Jacob asked, pulling back and looking up. "What happened?"

Shrugging, Ada said, "We won't know until the coroner gets here. Apparently they didn't answer the morning health check call, so the protocol is for someone to come and . . . they were both in bed."

"Oh, Ada. You're so . . . calm."

"I'm - I'm . . ." she shrugged.

Jacob nodded. He understood.

"We need to tell the kids soon. And probably get Claude home before it's all over the Internet. I probably need to write some sort of statement," she said.

"Of course. Should we do that now or . . . ?" Blowing a deep breath out, he looked around her parent's living room, looking confused and lost. Ada knew exactly how he felt. Just as it had been every Sunday afternoon when they'd come for a lunch. Everything was there: the sofa, their computers, the framed  _Time_ magazine cover, but it felt different.

"I haven't seen them yet. Will you come with me?" Ada asked.

Her husband turned back sharply. "You mean . . . their . . ."

"Yes."

"Don't you want to remember them like they were?" he asked.

Ada considered his point. Like they were: quirky, nerdy, challenging, so deeply in love. She remembered a random Sunday afternoon, several years before: Mom helping Claude sort the blocks by color and size while she and Ada discussed their summer vacation plans, Sheldon and Maxine arguing about the transwarp drive in the newest  _Star Trek_  holomovie. Their cats were still alive, sitting in the window sill, swishing their tails as they watched the birds outside.

Dad had just made an especially forceful point when Mom said softly, "Sheldon."

"What? It's the truth!"

"It's not a competition. She's your granddaughter."

Grumbling something, Dad looked back at Maxine. "Your grandmother thinks we should be more civilized."

"Nothing is more civilized than a rational but passionate discussion about science," Maxine announced.

"Be that as it may, your grandmother is always correct."

Playing chess with Olmsted, Jacob had chuckled first, but then they had all joined in. Dad had looked over the top of Claude's head at Mom, and she had looked at him . . . it was the same look Ada had been seeing her entire life.

Now in her parent's eerily quiet apartment, Ada shook her head. "I'll always remember them like they were. But I feel like I need to see them like this, too. To make it real. Please?"

Jacob nodded and threaded his fingers through hers. They walked to the bedroom door together, pausing, and Jacob said softly, "Are you sure?"

Ada nodded and reached out to touch the door knob. She squeezed Jacob's hand. "I'm okay." It was probably more for her than for him.

* * *

The slight grunt awoke her. The dim light in the bedroom meant the sun was barely up. "Jacob?"

"Shhh," he murmured. "Sorry I woke you." He set a cardboard box on the top of their dresser, one of those old file folder types.

Ada sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing? What is that box?"

"I went and got the stuff from your parent's. You know."

Flipping her beside light on, she said, "You went to my parent's? In the middle of the night?"

"Yeah." He lifted the box again and brought it over to her, sitting in in the middle of the bed. "I know you were worried about some of their stuff. And the press was awful there yesterday. I see why you insisted we put the house in my name now."

"You did this for me?" Ada looked down into the box, and her parent's Nobel medals were resting on the very top.

"Of course." As Jacob got on to bed, he reached over to kiss the top of her head. "Olmy went with me."

"Olmsted," she said softly, reaching in to pull out the first medal sitting on its bed of velvet in the glass case. "He's a good kid." She looked up. "It must be hard for him, living in this family."

"Maybe. But he seems okay. I'm not a genius, either, and I love this family," Jacob said without malice, reaching in to pull out the other medal. "What are you going to do with these? Put them next to yours?"

"I don't know."

"That reminds me. I went through the voicemails last night, and the Smithonsian called. I made a list for you of the important calls that you might want to consider getting back to. Whenever you're ready. I'll handle the urgent ones today. Fortunately, your parents were explicit about their wishes. The university has offered the Auditorium for the service. All the other calls I've deleted. You know, the press, the attention seekers."

Nodding at him, Ada said, "Thank you. I couldn't do this without you."

Jacob smiled sadly and reach for her hand on the edge of the box. "You're very strong, Ada. You would handle this just fine without me. But I'm glad I'm here to help."

"Me, too." She looked back down into the box and started to pull out all several white photo books. "I should look through these with the kids later, they'd probably like that." She stacked them neatly: Year Four, Year Five, Year Six, and Year Seven. "Where's the rest? Dad made one for Mom every year. They're not here."

"I have the rest still out in the car," Jacob explained, "in another box. They wouldn't fit."

Ada blushed, ashamed. Of course Jacob would remember and bring them all. "What's all this stuff at the bottom?"

"I thought your mom might have a jewelry box, but I couldn't find one. So I looked in those drawers in their bedside tables. I found all this stuff. I didn't now if it was important or not, but your dad's watch was in there and I know that was important to him."

On the top of all this ephemera was his watch, the old-fashioned one he always wore. "His watch. Mom had it engraved for their anniversary I think it was." Ada flipped it over and saw the words had faded away from daily wear and she couldn't make then out any more. She frowned, trying to remember what it said, if she even knew what it said. One more story she didn't know all the details of, one more story she didn't commit to memory, one more time her parents shared something meaningful she didn't know about. "We should give this to Olmsted. I think he'd like it."

Looking back into the box, Ada took a deep breath. She didn't know what she expected. Not love letters tied in a ribbon; that wasn't her father's style. A few pictures? Some jewelry maybe? Not that she ever saw her mother wear much other than her wedding rings. Lately, there had been that tiara necklace Dad had bought her for their fiftieth wedding anniversary, just this past winter. Maxine should have it, Ada wouldn't have the heart to wear it.

What Ada did not expect is what she saw. Wrinkling her brow, she put her hand in and took out the top one.

"What are they? I couldn't figure it out," Jacob whispered from beside her.

"A Post-It note. 'I love you more than Bilbo loved the Shire,'" she read. She flipped to the next. "'I love you more than Laura loved Almonzo.'" She smiled as she started to pull the neat stack out. It seemed as though there were love letters in here, after all. "I'd completely forgotten about these. Every year, on Valentine's Day, my father always gives - gave my mother a Post-It for every book they'd read that year for their Book Club."

"Really? Wow."

Then Ada frowned. "But these six are in Mom's handwriting, not Dad's." She lifted up all the other little stacks, each packet of six held together by a paperclip, and all the others were in her father's writing. What happened that year? Why did Mom do it, not Dad? Another story she'd never know. "I had no idea she saved them all, sorted like this."

"Yeah, they were on your mom's side. That's all she had other than her necklace, and some stuff like hand lotion I didn't bring. The rest was your dad's."

Underneath the Post-It notes, next to the red hinged box that Ada knew housed the tiara necklace, was a small hard-bound book. Ada pulled it out and looked at the cover. " _The Natural History of Dragons_? I've never heard of it."

Jacob shrugged. She looked back down and pulled out some old-fashioned printed photographs. She had seen the top one before.

"My parents on their wedding day," she explained, passing the first to Jacob. Mom in a silly tiara, she and Dad staring into each others eyes as their hands met around a bouquet of sunflowers.

He took the picture and studied it. "Look how young they were! I've never seen this. It's very . . . intimate."

"Look at this one. I think I only saw it once before. I'd completely forgotten about it." Ada looked down at her parents, her mother with dark circles under eyes but a smile on her face. Sitting on the hospital bed next to her father, also smiling. And there, latched onto her mother's breast, was a dark-haired newborn. Me, Ada thought softly.

Moving her hand to put the photos down, she realized there was something stuck to the back of the last one. She wrinkled her brow and carefully pulled the hospital room photo away from the one beneath it. "Strange," she murmured.

Revealed was an image she'd never seen before, and her brow furrowed deeper. It was a candid photo of she and her mother at the Nobel reception, relaxing between dances after the ceremony, although Mom was centered in the photo. That was odd, Dad usually took perfectly symmetrical photos, he prided himself upon it. They were laughing, Ada's arm about her mother's shoulders. The new medal hung from Mom's neck, and the slightly older one hung from Ada's. Ada was just pregnant that with Olmsted that December.

"Who took this?" Ada asked, looking up at her husband. "Did you?"

Jacob tilted closer to her in bed, to look over her shoulder. "No. Your dad did. I was standing by him."

Glancing down into the apparently empty box, Ada made sure there were no more photographs before looking back at the one she held in her hand. "I don't understand. I know there are photographs of all three of us in our medals. We took some the night he won, remember? And there are those professional ones for  _Time_ magazine."

"I'm don't know if this was meant to be a secret or not, but I guess it doesn't matter now. Do you want to know what your father said to me when he took this picture?" Jacob asked.

Ada turned and looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Something like, 'Seeing her, I don't need a medal.' No, that's not right." He shook his head. "You're both in it, so it must have 'seeing them' not 'seeing her.'"

Ada looked down once more. No, there was a reason Mom was centered in the photo, it had been taken that way on purpose by her father. "No, it was 'seeing her.' It always was."

Then it came out as a hiccup or a choking sound, and she tried, very hard, to put it back in. She would have thought she had cried every tear her lacrimal system could ever produce yesterday afternoon and evening, once the initial shock had worn off, once her children had been calmly told and a flight had been booked for Maxine to come home.

"I loved them so much," she sobbed as Jacob pulled her close, "but I'm so happy they're together."

* * *

"Cooper and Fowler!" comes the loud call.

Amy looks over at Sheldon and smiles. He only licks his lips. Please, please, please, she silently prays, don't back out now. But he doesn't hesitate to walk with her to the counter. Several people turn to look and, for a brief second, she feels foolish in her tiara with her bouquet of loosely tied sunflowers. Are they being rash? After so many years, it seems like rash is the last word she can use to describe the situation, but this is not at all the romantic wedding of which her dreams have been made. Earlier, this idea had felt like a mere formality of the vows they'd already expressed, but now that she is here . . .

Perhaps she slows in her thoughts, and Sheldon turns back to look at her, causing her to shuffle to catch up.

The bored employee tells them what to fill out, where to sign, and checks their IDs. It is surprisingly easy to get a marriage license. She hands them a small paper ticket, like the kind they used to pass out at the meat counter. "Number forty-three. When your number is displayed above the door, you can go in. This is your actual marriage license, hand it to the clerk inside. No license, no wedding."

Amy looks down at the little ticket, as Sheldon takes the form. How perfunctory. Before she can frown, Sheldon enthuses, "A prime number! Fun fact: did you know that the Egyptians are believed to have understood and used prime numbers since the Middle Kingdom? You can read all about it on the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus at the British Museum."

"Fascinating."

"Oh, yes, I think so, too."

They go to sit on one of the wooden benches to await their turn. "Sheldon, I -" she stops, unsure what it is she really wants to express.

"Yes?" He turns and waits.

"I guess . . . I just want to say thank you. For the flowers, for this, for marrying me."

"I am marrying you because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, not as a gift."

Blushing, Amy nods. Yes, of course. Just like all of Sheldon's declarations, so simple and obvious once they are said but in the most beautiful way. She should not have phrased it that way, as though their marriage had only the importance of a few flowers that would die in a week or so. "I love you, too."

Sheldon tilts his head quizzically. Amy knows that he was still trying to work out what she meant, what she was trying to say. Even she isn't sure. It's just that for so long she never thought she'd be here, marrying Sheldon Cooper. She had dreamed of it, longed for it, certainly, but it had not seemed truly possible until recently.

"I know you had never considered marriage," she starts again and stops. No, she is saying this all wrong, it sounds like she has regrets or doubts or is trying to back out, which is the last thing she wants to do. She wants to say something like a blessing because it feels like a moment for some gravitas, but without any religious overtones. "I guess I just want to say that I want you to be happy as my husband."

"I will be." Not a hint of doubt in his reply.

"I know."

It is the universal truth of their relationship: that Amy has seen the potential in him all along, and it is this faith that makes Sheldon achieve what he thought impossible.

"Look!, it's our number already!" He points at the red electronic numbers above the door and she smiles at his obvious glee. He is already happy. As is she, to be standing at the edge of this great precipice with him. Always him.

Clutching her sunflowers tighter, Amy stands and walks with him toward the wooden doors. Just as he is about to open them, Sheldon turns back, takes her free hand, and he smiles at her, a blindingly beautiful smile, and she knows it is all perfect. Yes, it is not objectively romantic and she has a feeling her mother will be livid when she finds out, but it is perfect because Sheldon is there. Because she wants to spend the rest of her life with him, too.

"Are you ready to be my bride?" he asks.

"Always," she whispers back, her voice trembling on the edge of tears. Sheldon squeezes her hand as the doors part, and they walk over the threshold and through together.

* * *

Jacob finished loading the dishwasher and then wiped his hands on the towel as it started. He took a deep breath and looked around the empty house. Even Yasmine and Maxine had gone, the last to leave, off to do something together. Finally, it was over. He'd been dreading the funeral all week, more for Ada and Claude's sake than anyone else's, but it had gone smoothly. All their honorary cousins had come back to eat the mountains of food that had been appearing from neighbors and coworkers all week, but they had gone now. Fortunately, none of them were bothered when Olmsted volunteered to take Claude back to his apartment for some quiet or even when Ada disappeared not long after everyone arrived. They were an eclectic group of people, bonded by Friday evenings spent in a playroom states away even though their lives had all taken radically different paths, and that unusual bond extended to a lesser extent to their spouses and children.

It was, Jacob had realized half-way through, the first gathering in which none of their parents were present. Some had already passed on, some were too frail to travel, like his own parents now, and even though Leonard and Penny had made it out, they had not come to the little wake. No reason was given, but Jacob had caught Uncle Leonard sobbing in the bathroom of the Auditorium after the service. It was one of the more pitiful things Jacob had ever seen, the stooped elderly man crying over his former roommate's passing. Jacob had wrapped his arm around him as Leonard murmured, "He was more than my roommate, he was my brother." Fortunately, Fenny had come in just then, looking for him, and Jacob had gently passed him over, unable to bear the weight of one more grieving person.

Stepping out the back door, Jacob stopped to inspect the roses. He would take his time approaching her; he knew he would be seen out the guest cottage windows. Ada, still the love of his life. The guest cottage had been her sanctuary when all the children were younger, a place she could put her white boards and drawings and whatever else she was working on at the time and keep curious and sticky fingers off it. "Mama's thinking house," Olmy had called it when he was younger. Jacob smiled at the memory.

He knocked softly and opened the door just enough to peek at her, curled up on the day bed in the corner. She was already looking up at him, waiting for him. Good, she wasn't crying. Not that he wouldn't have gladly bore her weight every single day, for her weight was no weight at all.

"Everyone's left," he said, walking over to sit next to her, pulling himself back against the wall and leaning into the pillows. She shifted and stretched out next to him. This was still their favorite: sitting next to each other, their legs out stretched in front of them.

"Thank you," she said simply. He knew, after all these years what it meant: thank you for letting me be alone with my thoughts.

Jacob reached for her hand. "What have you been doing?"

"Reading." She held up a book in her other hand. "It's the book Dad had in his nightstand,  _The Natural History of Dragons._  I just finished it."

"I read it, too. Not that copy, though," Jacob said.

"You read it? When?" Ada leaned forward, her eyes intense.

"I've been reading it this week. Probably for the same reason you did, to figure out why your dad had it."

Ada nodded. "Did you like it?"

"Yes. Did you?"

Another nod and then she pulled her hand way to flip through the book. "Listen to this: '"A husband willing to fund a library for his bookish wife is not so easy to obtain; most would see it as a pointless expense. You might, however, find one willing to share his library. There gentlemen on that list are all amateur scholars, with well-stocked studies." Papa's eyes gleamed at me from beneath his brows, and the lines around them threatened to crinkle up. He rose from his chair in time to catch me as I cam flying around his desk to develop him in a hug. A laugh of started delight won its way free of me.'" Ada put the book down and looked at him studiously. "There's something about that . . . it's very lovely, isn't it? Terribly old-fashioned, of course, but it's true to the time. A man that shares his library, that's true love."

"Or, nowadays, a woman that will share hers," Jacob said with a soft smile.

"Exactly!" Her eyebrows went up.

"Here -" Jacob put his hand out "- there is another passage a few pages later that continues that theme." Ada passed the book over and he flipped the pages until he found what he wanted. Clearing his throat, he read, "'I had free run of his library and could request certain purchases of him, if there was a title I desired that he had not interest in. Edgeworth and few other volumes I kept for my own, in my private sitting room. With so much material to read, I must confess that I occasionally neglected my social duties as his wife, failing to arrange the sorts of dinner parties and other events that are expected of our class.'" He looked over the top edge of the pages. "Sound like someone you know?"

"Good grief, this is not the Victorian era and we are not the landed gentry, Jacob," Ada said, tugging the book away from him with a smile. Then she glanced back at him. "What are you grinning at?"

"It's good to see you smile," he said. He pointed to the book. "Do you think it was from their book club?"

"Maybe." Ada tilted her head. "I never heard them mention it before, so I don't when they would have read it. It's not in the Post-It notes Mom saved, I checked. Their apartment burned down in the quake of 2017, so maybe it was from before that. But then it's strange that it's not an ebook. And this copy didn't even look like it had been read before. So does that mean Dad went out and bought a copy? Why? What would make this book so special?" Ada shook her head. "But, regardless, yes, I can see it coming from their book club: enough mild science for Dad, enough mild sentimentally for Mom."

"I'm still kind of surprised your dad agreed to a book club. And novels, not science books! There are a lot feelings in novels and he probably had to talk about them," Jacob said, taking her hand again.

"Ah, you saw him with Mom. There were a lot of feelings between them," Ada said softly, turning.

"Hey." He pulled her back with his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. You said you finished the book?" Ada nodded. "Tell me what you liked best about it."

"The tone. It's very precise, just like an older Victorian lady would write about her past: the sentence structure, the syntax, all of it. She's honest about her mistakes, somewhat vain about her accomplishments. She's not given to hysterics or melodrama." She paused. "What did you like best?"

"I like the drawing of the dragons. No, I liked imagining Isabella drawing them. You know I can't resist a smart woman with a pencil in her hand." Ada laughed then, really laughed, and Jacob grinned again.

"Did you like the dragons themselves? I thought the drawings were interesting," she asked when she had stopped laughing. "I wish there had been more dragons so there would be more drawings."

"There's a sequel. Actually a whole series. I looked them up. We could read the next one, if you want," Jacob suggested.

Ada looked at him before answering, and he held her gaze. Her beautiful blue eyes, just like her father. The line forming already between her brows, just like her mother. Yet she was uniquely and wholly her own person. And she was his. He felt all of their feelings passing between them.

Then she smiled softly and said, "Yes. Let's read it together."

THE END

* * *

**_I've never been a proponent of lengthy author's notes, but I feel that here, at the end, I will make an exception._ **

**_Thank you. Thank you for reading my story, for going on this journey through Shamy and books and the love of both with me. Thank you for indulging me while I attempted to portray that a happy marriage can remain interesting even in the littlest of things, that though true love may change over time as people grow and mature, it is never lost. But most of all, thank you for all your kinds words which sustained me in the most difficult struggles with my craft. I feel like I have carved a piece of my heart off each and every week for over two years, and, even though I know the time is right for this ending for numerous reasons, the remainder of my heart is breaking today, too. Thank you to my readers for being the balm that will help hold it together, for the best stitches in the universe are words._ **


End file.
